


Love in the Dark

by semperama



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach tries not to cling to something that he can't have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilentBridge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentBridge/gifts).



> I wrote this for SilentBridge, who wanted a fic based off Adele's song Love in the Dark. Fortunately or unfortunately for her, this song happens to fit right in line with many of my sad Pinto headcanons, so while this should maybe have just been a ficlet, it is now going to be an epic.
> 
> Thanks to RC for once again helping to make sure I don't screw everything up. <333
> 
> And thanks to Mystic, Pine-Farr, and April for providing me with valuable timeline info that I am going to put to good (read: horrible use) as this fic goes on!

  
**March 2010**  
_take your eyes off of me so I can leave_  


Chris is frowning in his sleep. His face is striped with the morning sunlight that sneaks through the blinds, and Zach struggles not to reach out and trace those pale lines with his fingertips. He struggles not to smooth his thumb across the crease between Chris’s brow in an attempt to flatten it out, because no one should look this unhappy in sleep, and least of all Chris, who deserves much better than this. So much better than this.

Then again, Zach deserves better than this too. That’s the problem.

“Chris,” he whispers, knowing it won’t take much more than that to wake him. Sure enough, Chris stirs, his eyelids fluttering but not opening yet.

“Hmm?”

“Chris, I need to leave soon.”

Predictably, Chris frowns harder at that, until his forehead is a mess of wrinkles and Zach is finally compelled to reach out and try to brush them away. It doesn’t work. Chris opens his eyes and blinks at him a few times, his eyes unfocused as he fights off the last remnants of sleep. It’s impossible for Zach not to think back to the first time he woke up in this bed, when Chris had stretched and sighed and smiled one of those smiles that only happens just once, the first time you wake up next to someone you never thought you’d get to wake up next to. 

“I need to leave soon,” Zach repeats, now that Chris seems to really be seeing him. “The movers are going to be here sometime after nine.”

Most of his stuff has already been shipped, but between Noah and his biggest suitcase stuffed with the last of his clothes, he will have enough to deal with at the airport without adding a few final boxes to the mix. What’s the point of having money if you don’t use it for convenience and peace of mind? He finished the last of the packing yesterday, so all he needs to do is go back to the house and wait, but he’d rather do that than stay here and deal with the way Chris has been looking at him the past few days. Like he kicked a puppy or fucked his sister or something equally horrible and out of character. Last night was a little better, but Zach knows it’s going to take Chris a while to forgive him for leaving. He can’t say he blames him. He would feel the same way if their positions were reversed. It’s different when you are the one being left behind, rather than the one who makes the decision to leave.

It might be easier if they could just talk about it, but Zach doesn’t want to talk, and luckily Chris hasn’t pressed the issue either. It’s for the best, really. This way Zach won’t head off to New York with his head full of promises that neither of them know if they can keep. 

“You sure you don’t want me to take you to the airport?” Chris asks. The first time he had asked the question, Zach believed that he really wanted to, but now he sounds like he’s offering out of obligation. Maybe he thinks Zach will be mad at him if he doesn’t keep fighting until the end, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. This is the part where he wishes Chris would stop resisting and let him go with as little fuss as possible. Every time he thrashes, even if it’s a token thrash, it tightens the noose around Zach’s heart.

“I’m sure,” he says. “I need to drop off the car anyway, remember?”

“All the more reason for me to take you.” This time, Chris sounds a little more certain. He even props himself up on his elbow, as if that will prove he’s awake and lend weight to his argument.

“Really, Chris, it’s fine.” Zach sits up, slowly, then immediately wishes he hadn’t. Now that he’s up, he really does have to get moving. The quiet morning is dissolving around them, and awkwardness is creeping in to take its place, and Zach feels like he has to out-pace it. These last few moments that they have together shouldn’t be spent treating each other like strangers, like they just woke up after an ill-advised one night stand. 

Anyway, Zach needs to stop thinking of them as the _last_ moments. So what if he’s moving across the country? It’s not like he’ll never see Chris again. This isn’t goodbye. It’s just goodbye for now.

Chris sighs and tips forward until his forehead is resting against Zach’s shoulder blade. His arms wrap loosely around Zach’s waist, and they sit there like that for a few beats, Zach barely daring to breathe for fear that he’ll shake Chris off. When Chris’s lips meet his spine, he can’t help but expel all the air from his lungs, rounding his back so he’s pressed harder against that mouth. God, he’s such an idiot. He shouldn’t want to believe that those kisses are marking him, leaving imprints on his skin. Chris has left more than enough imprints on him already.

He finally shrugs Chris away and tosses back the covers, then swivels to place his feet on the floor. It’s at least a little easier when he’s not looking at him. Which means it’ll be a lot easier when he’s three thousand miles away, right? He gets to his feet and starts plucking discarded clothes off the floor, inspecting them to make sure they are his before pulling them on. Underwear. Jeans. T-shirt. Cardigan. Chris lets him get practically all the way through it before he fucks everything up.

“What if you stayed?” he asks.

At first, Zach deliberately misunderstands him. It’s his only defense. “We don’t have time. I told you, I have to be back—”

“No, I mean…” It doesn’t matter how brittle Chris sounds; Zach is not going to look at him, not now. He stares at the foot of the bed instead, at the place where Chris feet make twin lumps under the covers. Unfortunately, refusing to look at him doesn’t make him stop talking. “I mean, what if you _stayed_?”

Zach takes a few moments to imagine what it would be like if Chris was asking the question that Zach wants him to be asking. He imagines being with Chris in more than just these secret, stolen moments that are tinged with the unspoken understanding that it can’t grow into anything more than what it already is. 

“You know I can’t stay, Chris.” He _could_. It’s not like someone has a gun to his head. But he knows he has gotten everything he can get out of life in LA. His agent has been relaying murmurings to him about a potential run of Angels in America off-Broadway, and from there it feels like he’ll only be a stone’s throw away from Broadway itself. Plus, his temperament isn’t well-suited to all this Hollywood shit. He’s tired of the plasticness of it and he’s tired of not having seasons and…he’s just tired. It’s time to start a new chapter.

And then there’s the small part of him that thinks maybe if he puts three thousand miles between himself and Chris, he will stop wanting him. For all that he keep telling himself that this doesn’t have to be the end of anything, he can’t help but think about how it would be better if it was. Better for both of them.

“Yeah, I know,” Chris sighs, sounding about as resigned as Zach feels. “It’s just…” His face falls, and he scrubs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, then rubs the back of his neck, licks his lips. The flurry of nervous tics makes Zach’s heart ache, so he sits down hard on the edge of the bed and then reaches out, wrapping his hand around one of Chris’s ankles over the covers and giving it a squeeze. 

“Please, Chris, it’s…” Zach takes a deep breath. He’s an actor. He can do this. “It’s not a big deal, okay? You’re going to come visit me, and I’m going to come visit you, and we’ll see each other more than you think.”

Chris nods, though he looks a little uncertain. “I just don’t want things to change, you know? I’m gonna miss you, man. Seriously.”

Apparently no one told Chris it’s bad manners to call someone something as casual as “man” when you’ve been sleeping with them off and on for over a year, but that’s just another symptom of the problem. It was always casual for Chris anyway. He is a wonderful guy and a wonderful friend, and Zach doesn’t doubt that he would do just about anything for him. It’s just that the one thing Zach wants is the one thing Chris can’t give him. 

“I’m gonna miss you too,” Zach admits. He forces himself to smile as he says it, though it feels fake. “But seriously, you better visit.”

“Of course,” Chris agrees, like it wasn’t even a question. He scoots forward and puts a hand to the back of Zach’s neck so he can pull him in for a gentle kiss—a goodbye kiss. And this is one of those moments that fucks Zach up. Chris readily agreeing to come visit him, as if it’s a foregone conclusion that they shouldn’t be apart too long. Chris kissing him goodbye, like they are really lovers and not…he doesn’t think there’s really a word for what they are to each other. 

Still, he lets the kiss linger, flicking his tongue out to taste Chris’s morning breath, raking his fingernails through Chris’s hair. He is just enough of a masochist to want to take this memory with him, even though he has a feeling this won’t be the last time. A smarter man, a better man, would probably just end things right now— _oh, by the way, this seems like a good time to stop doing this thing that we’re doing_ —but Zach is undeniably weak. 

“Alright,” he says, forcing himself to pull away. “I really need to get going.”

As Zach stands up, Chris keeps hold of his hand until the last second, leaning towards him until Zach takes too many steps backward and their fingers slide apart. This is it. No more taking the short walk to Chris’s house with the dogs just to have dinner together or watch a movie. No more morning runs. No more unexpected knocks at his door or combined parties with their friends or late-night taco runs. Fuck, he’s really doing it. He’s going to move all the way across the country—to a place he’s always wanted to live, admittedly, but also a place where there is no Chris.

“Have a safe flight,” Chris is saying, oblivious to the emotion welling up inside Zach. “Call me or something when you land.”

Zach nods on autopilot. “Sure. Yeah. You…you go back to sleep. You look like you’re still half dead to the world.”

Chris stifles a yawn on cue, nodding, and flops back down on the pillows. “Don’t forget to lock up after you.”

Zach pats his pocket. Last night, he tried to give Chris his key back, but Chris insisted that he keep it, ‘so he can drop by whenever he’s in town’. Has he ever given a key to one of the women he’s been with, Zach wonders? He probably doesn’t actually have to wonder.

It’s tempting to walk backwards out the door so he can keep his eyes on Chris until the last second, but he makes himself turn around instead. That doesn’t keep him from looking back over his shoulder when he’s in the doorway though.

“Goodbye, Chris,” he says.

Chris smiles at him from where he is reclined on the pillows—a tired, sad sort of smile. Sleep-rumpled and with eyes half-lidded, he’s about as beautiful as Zach has ever seen him.

“Bye, Zach,” he murmurs.

Zach makes sure to turn away and walk out of the room before he swipes at his eyes.

———

“So, did you get to say goodbye to Chris?” Joe asks a little too knowingly, just as they are pulling out onto the highway. After the movers left, Zach swung by to drop his Prius off at Joe’s place and catch a ride to the airport, but now he sort of wishes he had gotten a cab instead. He doesn’t know that he’s in the mood for the third degree right now.

“I saw him last night.” It’s technically not a lie. The fact that he also saw him this morning is irrelevant, at least as far as Joe is concerned.

“And how did that go?”

“It went fine.” Zach shrugs one shoulder, even though he knows that being too cavalier about this is a dead giveaway. “What do you expect me to say? That we clung to each other for hours and bawled?”

“I mean…yeah.” Joe glances over at him and quirks and eyebrow, clearly not buying what he’s selling. “Come on, you two have been attached at the hip for the past…what? Two years?”

“Umm, yeah, because we were filming a movie. And then promoting said movie. And we happened to find out we enjoy each other’s company somewhere in there too.”

“Name one person whose company you enjoy that much that you didn’t end up falling at least half in love with, brother mine.” Foreseeing Zach’s protest, he lifts a hand and adds, “One person with a dick.”

Zach sighs and slumps down in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. This big brotherly psych eval is far from amusing, and his relationship shortcomings are going to take bigger guns than Joe has available to him anyway. And he keeps getting these flashes of Chris’s sleepy face in his mind’s eye, so it’s really hard to have a sense of humor at the moment. Every mile closer to the airport is a mile farther away from Chris and he just…can’t. He can’t do this right now.

Joe must notice the change in his mood, because he lets out a sigh and reaches over to ruffle Zach’s hair. “I’m sorry, Zach. I know it sucks. But this is for the best.”

“I know,” Zach says. He does know. The thought of living in New York gives him happy butterflies. He just wishes he hadn’t ended up finding something that made him want to stay, so that he could be completely excited about this new life that he is headed off to greet.

All he can do is hope that his feelings will fade, and that Chris will slot neatly into the ‘out of sight, out of mind’ category soon. There will be new people to spend time with in New York. 

When they pull up to the curb at the airport, Joe jumps out and grabs Zach’s suitcase while Zach lets Noah out of the back seat and untangles his leash. He hugs Joe goodbye, and if he holds on a little too light and a little too long, Joe doesn’t make a fuss about it.

“Don’t be a stranger, bro,” he says, thumping Zach on the back, then cradling the side of his face with one hand as he pulls away. “Let me know you made it there safely.”

“I will.” Zach can feel the tears welling up in his eyes, but they don’t spill over, thank God. The last thing he needs now is for someone to spot him walking through LAX with red eyes and a runny nose. The press would have a field day trying to explain that one, and something tells him that someone would jump to conclusions that involve Chris Pine. 

Joe gives his cheek a little an affectionate little smack, then pulls him into one more brief, tight hug.

“Alright, alright,” Zach grouses, backing away before he really does start crying. “Look in on my house every now and then, will you?”

“You got it.” Joe smiles at him and then steps backward off the curb. “Enjoy the Big Apple.”

Zach stands there and watches until Joe gets into the car again and pulls away, to make way for all the traffic streaming in behind him. Only once Joe’s car is out of sight does he force himself to turn around and grab his suitcase, then head inside. He looks down at Noah, who is wholly unperturbed, his mouth hanging open and his tongue lolling happily, blissfully unaware that he is about to be pumped full of drugs and shut up in a kennel for a few hours. Zach almost wishes they could pump _him_ full of drugs too. He should have brought a sleeping pill or something. He doesn’t want to spend the whole flight thinking about what he’s leaving behind.

———

The new apartment is pretty small in comparison to his house in LA, but Zach fell in love with it the moment he saw it. It is everything a person’s first apartment in the city _should_ be—tiny but cozy, with a cute little fireplace and an ironing board that pulls out of the wall and wood floors that have been scuffed by generations of careless feet, both human and furniture. When he steps inside, wheeling his suitcase after him, it actually does feel a little like coming home somehow, like he has always belonged here. 

He lets Noah off his leash to explore and then takes to suitcase into the bedroom. For now, he has no furniture—just a mattress on the floor and boxes stacked in the corners—but something about that feels right too. It may be years too late, and he might have much more money than he thought he would have, but he has finally made it to where he really wants to be.

Of course, that’s the moment he realizes he forgot to text Chris.

Sighing, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and flops down on his back on the mattress, holding his phone above his face. 

_made it to nyc, safe and sound_ , he types, then presses send and stares at the screen, willing Chris to answer him right away. He’s in luck. Not a minute later, the screen lights up again.

_Glad to hear it. :)_

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. A frowny face instead of a smiley face, maybe? Some indication that Chris misses him already or wishes he didn’t go? Because he misses Chris already. Usually when he gets home after a long flight, the first thing he wants to do is call him up and go get pizza or invite him over for a few beers. This is a different home though, and Chris isn’t just a few blocks away anymore. 

Zach drops his phone onto the bed beside him and shuts his eyes, trying to bring back that bone-deep satisfaction he felt when he first walked through the door. It’s gone now though, buried deep under layers of regret and loneliness—the worst kind of loneliness, where the only person you want to be with is the person you can’t have. 

He lies there for a long time, until Noah wanders into the room and lays down next to him, putting his head on his stomach. He lies there and thinks about home, wonders if it’s possible to have two homes at once. He lies there and thinks about Chris.


	2. Chapter 2

  
**April 2010**  
_this is never ending_  


Meeting up in Central Park was Chris’s idea. Zach tried all morning to feel blasé about it, but the flutter of anticipation in his gut made it hard to put on the disaffected True New Yorker air that he was looking for. He can’t really pretend to care where they hang out, even if it is a huge cliché, and even if he is a little annoyed that they won’t have their reunion private. The important thing is that he is about to see Chris for the first time in over a month. The moment he steps off the path and lifts his hand to his eyes and spots Chris and Patrick sitting in the grass, he breaks into a grin. It’s just about all he can do to stroll toward them at a leisurely pace, like his heart isn’t thumping double-time in his chest and his legs aren’t itching to break into a run. This is just a meeting of friends, not a scene from a rom-com.

Except Zach almost reevaluates that last part when Chris pops up to his feet and swoops in like he’s going to go for a kiss, here in front of everyone. But no, it’s only a hug, a familiar rasp of stubble on Zach’s neck and a whiff of Chris’s shampoo and three solid back-slaps to drive home the ‘no homo’ of it all. When all that is done, Zach is almost too flustered to remember to hug Patrick too, so it turns into something awkward and stiff that leaves Patrick shooting him a concerned look over the rims of his sunglasses. Zach ignores it, turning away to pluck at the sleeve of Chris’s thick cardigan as they all sink down into the grass.

“Warm enough there, Christopher?” he asks. 

Chris grins. God, did Zach miss that grin. “Hey, give me a break. I’m cold-blooded. You’ve taken me out of my natural habitat.”

“It’s the same temperature here as it is in LA, dude,” Patrick says. “You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“If Zach can wear that fugly-ass hat, I can wear this sweater.” Chris reaches over and taps the brim of Zach’s hat so it slips back on his head, making him sputter and fight a smile.

“You have no call to besmirch my fashion choices, Pine,” he grouses, pulling the hat back down and then cocking it jauntily to the side, just to make Chris roll his eyes. It works like a charm.

Patrick lets out a theatrical groan and flops over on his side, stretching out. “How about both of you leave the besmirching to me?”

“No deal,” Zach and Chris answer in unison, then turn to each other with matching grins.

“Wow, be more married, why don’t you?” Patrick says, and though Chris laughs it off, Zach’s gut twists and he can’t manage more than a wooden chuckle. 

Things move to safer territory shortly after that though. Zach hasn’t seen Patrick in a while, so they have some catching up to do, and even though he talks to Chris on a regular basis, there are a few details of his life to fill in too. It’s good to talk about work and upcoming projects with two guys who were there at the beginning of it all, when they were all still doing guest spots on TV shows and trying to find their places in Hollywood. Both Chris and Patrick ask Zach how he’s liking life in New York too, and Zach tries to make his answers as interesting as possible, like he has to prove to them that he’s happy. But why should he? He _is_ happy. He’ll start shooting for Margin Call in a couple months, and he might have Angels in America coming up in the fall and nothing but time to enjoy his new home before then, so what could he possibly have to complain about? If he seems overly defensive, neither of his friends seem to notice. 

Per usual, eventually they start reminiscing about the Grimy Corp. They always end up making the same half-hearted plans to reunite the group, and this time is no exception, but Zach feels just a little sadder about it now than all the times before. It’s like the past is slipping away from him faster and faster these days. Sometimes he wishes he could slam on the breaks, turn the car around, go back and appreciate it all a little more. He feels like the best days of his life were spent stretched out on the floor of that ratty apartment, laughing and drinking beer and smoking weed and dreaming about his big break. What he didn’t know then is that a big break is a mixed blessing.

“What do you guys have going on tonight?” Patrick asks, fishing his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through it like he’s trying to remind himself of his own schedule.

“Tribeca stuff,” Chris says with a shrug. “That’s what I’m here for, anyway.”

Zach leans over and slaps Chris on the thigh, smiling. “Hey, I’ve got a party we can go to.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “Don’t you always?”

“Yeah, you two enjoy that,” Patrick cuts in. “I’ll be actually having fun with my night.”

“How dare you!” Chris says, putting his hand to his chest like he’s scandalized. “Certainly you aren’t implying that attending movies of questionable quality for the sole purpose of ‘being seen’ isn’t fun?”

Patrick waves a dismissive hand, grinning. Then, he holds up his phone, pointing it at Chris. “Okay, picture time.”

It takes a little moaning and groaning to get through, but Patrick snaps a picture of each of them and slaps them up on Instagram, and then Zach feels compelled to take his phone out too and tweet about it. Except it might just be an excuse for him to look at the pictures again up close—mostly the one of Chris smiling into the sun, one arm lifted to shield his face. Despite all the shit Chris gives him for his online presence, Zach likes knowing that this moment is now documented indelibly. Physical photographs can get lost or damaged. Even digital pictures can get wiped accidentally. But maybe fifty years or even a hundred years from now, Hollywood historians will look back on these pictures, the day Kirk and Spock copped a squat in the park.

“Alright, kids.” Patrick gets to his feet and wipes the grass off his legs. “I’ve got to get going. You two try not to have too much fun without me.”

Chris gives him a two-finger salute from the ground, and Zach gets to his feet to hug him, making sure to wrap his arms all the way around him this time. 

“What do you want to do now?” Zach asks after Patrick is gone, turning to look down at Chris with his hands on his hips. Chris stares up at him for just a shade too long, his eyes unreadable behind the lenses of his sunglasses. Finally, he breaks into a grin and holds out his hands so Zach can help him up.

“You tell me,” he says. “You’re the New Yorker.”

Zach has some ideas. He may or may not have spent far too much time thinking of all the places he would take Chris when he had a chance. The gelato place with the whimsical flavors, the beautiful New York Public Library, the sandwich cart with those amazing meatball subs. Zach could easily spend a week showing Chris around, making every passing fancy he had in the last month into a reality. They don’t have a week, though. Whatever memories there are to be made will have to be meted out over the course of years. Zach tries very hard not to let that thought get him down.

He settles for taking Chris on a walk through the park. The afternoon has warmed up enough to be pleasant, so it seems like it would be a waste to spend it somewhere indoors, and if Chris has worries about being recognized, he doesn’t voice them. They stroll down The Mall, under the canopy of gnarled elm boughs, and chat aimlessly about whatever pops into their head, keeping the conversation mostly light and silly. When they come to the south end and the Literary Walk, Zach lets Chris wax poetic about Robert Burns and quote about half of To a Mouse to him in horrible Scots dialect. 

“Where’s your appreciation for authenticity?” Chris asked when Zach finally dissolves into giggles. “Come on, this is a classic!”

“Hey, I have nothing but appreciation for authenticity,” Zach says, wiping tears of mirth from under his eyes. “It’s your accent that I lack appreciation for.”

Chris gives up on pretending to be affronted and smiles at him, and Zach could swear that the temperature climbs a few degrees. The poem was perhaps a little too apropos. _The best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft a-gley._ Well said, Bob. Well said. Although Zach can hardly pretend that any of his own schemes are well-laid.

Eventually Chris lets out a heaving sigh and informs Zach that he needs to go back to his hotel to shower and change before the movie. Zach waits with him on the street until his car comes, then endures his companionable thump on the back and tells him he’ll see him at the theater. It seems silly to feel achy in his chest as he watches the car pull away from the curb, knowing that he’ll be seeing Chris again later tonight, but when he thinks back on the past couple hours and how good it felt to be with him again, he can’t help but resent any time they have to spend apart. 

It’s ridiculous. Zach feels pathetic, so much so that the blood rushes to his face in embarrassment, even though none of the passersby can see into his head and know what he’s thinking. He watches until Chris’s car is out of sight, then turns and heads for home. It takes four blocks for his cheeks to stop burning.

———

The movie is tedious, half because it is only a 4 out of 10 at best and half because all Zach wants to do is lean over and press his lips to the skin behind Chris’s ear and tell him how beautiful he is. When Chris went back to his hotel to shower and change, he swapped out his horrible cardigan for an only slightly less horrible cardigan and a way more horrible newsboy hat, but it’s still hard for Zach to look at the screen and not at him the entire time. And after it’s over, there’s the party, which Zach is very much regretting bringing up at all. Chris will still be here tomorrow, and the next day, but suddenly being here with all these other people seems like such a waste of time.

But that’s the problem, the feeling Zach is trying to avoid. His world shouldn’t stop turning for Chris. So he does the schmoozing thing; he makes the rounds and pays insincere compliments to actors he barely knows for performances that were barely worth mentioning. Sometimes Chris is right there at his side, tonguing the mouth of a bottle of beer like he wants to make Zach’s head explode, and sometimes he’s across the room, turning his blinding smile on some other poor, unsuspecting victim. After a while, the night takes on an artificial cast. The light hurts Zach’s eyes and the people look plastic and the chatter of voices starts to sound inhuman. He can usually withstand a night of partying like a pro, but he feels dead on his feet and desperate to be anywhere else, doing anything else.

As if drawn in by the whining in Zach’s head, Chris suddenly appears at his side again. He’s sans beer this time, but his eyes are a little unfocused, and Zach wonders how many he’s had. Come to think of it, he lost track of how many drinks he’s gone through himself. He feels a little heavier than normal, a little slower, but that could be exhaustion just as much as alcohol.

“Hey, man,” Chris says, leaning in and pitching his voice low, like he’s telling a secret. “I’m going to head out, I think. Head back to my hotel. But we should—”

“No, wait. I was thinking of calling it a night myself.” Zach clunks his empty glass down on a table nearby and throws a tight, apologetic smile at the woman who looks like she was en route to ambush him. She veers off in another direction, unfazed. There are plenty of other fascinating people to talk to. Zach turns back to Chris and takes him by the elbow. “Let me walk out with you.”

It’s not that late yet, not even midnight, so when they emerge onto the street, they are far from alone. But at least it’s quieter out here, and though the air is chilly, it feels better than the stuffiness back inside. Zach shoves his hands into his pockets and falls in step next to Chris while he searches for something to say. While he wants so badly to invite Chris to his place, he feels like it means something that Chris hasn’t brought it up himself. Maybe he doesn’t want to see Zach’s new apartment. Maybe he doesn’t want to fall back into old patterns. Maybe he’s seeing someone. Zach’s stomach ties itself up in knots, and he frowns down at the pavement, watching their feet move in time.

“So, did you want to show me your new place?” Chris asks.

The air leaves Zach’s lungs in a relieved rush that ends on a breathy chuckle. “Yeah.”

“What?” Chris asks, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“I do. Want you to see my place, I mean. I was just…afraid there was a reason you hadn’t brought it up yet.”

“You didn’t invite me, dude.” Chris knocks his elbow into Zach’s. “I was trying to be polite.”

Zach rolls his eyes at that. “I think we’re past the point where politeness is a concern, don’t you?”

But though Chris may be coming back to the apartment, that says nothing about what they’ll do when they get there. Zach played this out in his head a hundred times when he found out Chris was coming to New York, but no two scenarios were the same. He imagined himself developing some sense of self-preservation and keeping Chris at arm’s length. He imagined taking Chris home and officially christening his lonely bed. He imagined remaining aloof until Chris gave in and begged him to touch him, and he imagined breaking down and confessing every single stupid, mawkish thought he’d had in the past several weeks. 

Now that the moment is here, it’s obvious just how out of touch with reality all his fantasies have been. On the trek to Zach’s building, Chris keeps a safe distance, but that isn’t surprising. They can’t exactly hold hands and stroll down the street like lovers. But even in the elevator up to Zach’s floor, things are too quiet, too strained. Zach wishes he could swallow his pride and ask what Chris is thinking, but he fears coming across as needy, and he fears what the answer will be. 

“Home sweet home,” he says dryly as he pushes open the door and lets Chris walk inside first. 

“Already feels like home, huh?” Chris asks, glancing skeptically over his shoulder at Zach. Luckily Zach is saved from answering by Noah, who comes trotting up to meet them and steals Chris’s attention away for a moment. After the appropriate number of ear scratches are doled out, Chris moves deeper into the apartment, past the kitchen and into the living room. “It’s nice. A little small though.”

Zach snorts as he bends down to give Noah a few pets himself. “Yeah, it turns out real estate isn’t cheap in New York.” 

If Chris notices the slight bite in Zach’s voice, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he turns and strolls down the hall to look in on the bedroom and bathroom. Zach doesn’t follow him, both because it would be weird to lead him around on a mockery of a tour and because he doesn’t want to look at the bed that he sleeps in alone with Chris standing there by his side. He fears it would be too painfully obvious how many times he laid there and wished that Chris was with him. 

When Chris returns, he lingers in the mouth of the hallway, hands shoved in his back pockets, and stares silently at Zach for long moments, like he’s trying to figure something out. Maybe he feels just as off-kilter as Zach does. Zach holds his gaze for as long as he can, then looks away.

“I missed you,” he admits. He supposes that answers the question of whether he’s going to be able to remain aloof or not. But then Chris has always had a way of making him defy himself.

“I missed you too,” Chris murmurs. 

Zach’s gaze snaps back to Chris’s face at that, searching his expression for signs that he’s lying. But he doesn’t look like he’s lying. His eyes are a little shiny, in fact; they look bluer when they are wet. Zach wishes he could bottle up that color and keep it in his pocket.

“Come here,” he says hoarsely.

Chris shuffles forward, his eyes downcast. When they are almost toe to toe, he stops and shuts his eyes altogether, like he is gathering courage for something. Zach doesn’t wait to see what that might be. He curls his hand around the base of Chris’s skull and pulls him in until their lips are barely touching—not a kiss yet, but it will be, soon.

“I really missed you,” he says again. He can’t remember now why he didn’t want to admit to it before. It feels satisfying to say it out loud. “It’s so good to see you, Chris.”

The only answer he gets is a groan, and then Chris is tipping his chin up to fit their mouths together in earnest. He reaches up and knocks the hat off Zach’s head, then loops his arms around his neck and holds him tight, turning the kiss bruising and desperate. It’s less like a kiss at all and more like Chris is trying to fuse himself to Zach permanently. If only it worked that way, Zach thinks. If only that was what Chris really wanted.

Zach hasn’t memorized this new place well enough that he can navigate it with his eyes closed, so their trek to the bedroom is a little perilous. His shoulder ricochets off the corner of the hallway, and Chris trips over his own feet and almost takes them both down. About halfway there they get tired of maintaining forward momentum and stop to make out against the wall. Chris sneaks a hand up under Zach’s shirt to palm his bare waist. His fingers are like ice, and they make Zach flinch and huff into his mouth, but he doesn’t even consider pulling away. Something dangerous is crackling in the air around them. If they stop, even for one second, Zach is afraid of what will happen.

He has a feeling that the danger is from himself, and from the words that are on the tip of his tongue. 

“Want you so much,” Chris sighs, letting his head thunk back against the wall so Zach’s teeth scrape against his jaw. Zach wants to hear it again, and he tells Chris so, then reaches between their bodies and rubs Chris through his jeans until he’s obediently panting _wantyouwantyou_ in his ear. It’s comforting to see him lose some control too. It helps Zach pretend that they are on more equal footing.

Eventually Chris gets impatient and propels them off the wall and into the bedroom. Even after all this time, Zach still expects him to be shy or reluctant about all of this, but he pushes Zach back toward the bed with all the brazenness of a man who knows what he wants and knows he’s going to get it. Zach can only watch, wide-eyed and panting, as Chris tosses his ridiculous hat into the corner and strips off his shirt, then attacks Zach’s mouth again. A month apart hasn’t changed the way the planes of his back feel under Zach’s palms or the little sounds of pleasure he makes when Zach’s fingers slide lower, to pull their hips flush before they fall back onto the bed.

“Fuck, you have too many clothes on,” Chris pants against his mouth. Zach is trying to move closer to the head of the bed, or to flip Chris under him, but Chris is having none of it. He straddles Zach’s waist and tugs his shirt off with such violence that the seams groan.

“Watch it,” Zach mutters without meaning it. The shirt is replaceable. 

“You watch it,” Chris says nonsensically as he attacks Zach’s belt. “Want to ride you, Zach. Can I?”

“Jesus. Yes.” _Anything you want. Anything at all._

It’s happening so fast, too fast. Zach wants to remember this, so he can replay it when Chris is gone again, but he fears that all he’s going to remember is a blur of tangled limbs and low groans shot through with flashes of bright, bright blue. Chris yanks the rest of their clothes off while Zach digs in the drawer behind the bed. He holds himself above Zach’s hips with trembling thighs and hisses his encouragement as Zach fingers him open. Then, he’s sinking down, taking Zach in, and Zach wants to sob. How is it always like this with Chris? How does it always feel like Chris is taking all the far-flung pieces of him and knitting them back together again?

He pulls Chris in and drops his head to his shoulder, which is already starting to get tacky with sweat. On impulse, he flicks his tongue out to taste, but the salt is so foreign he almost regrets it. It doesn’t taste like Chris. He tilts his head back until it hits the wall, and looks at Chris from beneath heavy lids, but Chris isn’t looking back at him. His eyes are closed, his mouth slack with pleasure. As Zach watches, he licks slow across his bottom lip, and then his tongue stays there, poking at the corner of his mouth like he’s concentrating. Zach plants his feet and thrusts up, skin meeting skin with a resounding slap. Chris cries out and opens his eyes, and there, that’s all Zach wanted really, that look on Chris’s face, proof that he is present in this moment and not thousands of miles away.

A slow smile curls Chris’s lips and then he’s leaning in for a kiss, and Zach puts a hand to the back of his neck to keep him there. That’s his undoing, in the end. Chris is filling up his senses, sucking on his tongue and gasping into his mouth and clutching hard at his shoulders to give himself leverage to rise and fall in Zach’s lap. He can feel when Chris reaches between their bodies to stroke himself, his forearm brushing Zach’s stomach. It hasn’t been long enough yet. Zach wants this to last all night, but he is already so, so close.

“Come on,” Chris whispers at him. “Fuck me.”

Zach grabs hold of his waist to hold him in place and gives him what he asked for, until they’re both breathing raggedly and Chris is rolling their foreheads together and moaning Zach’s name like a prayer. Chris’s come hits Zach’s chest just moments before he cries out and spills into Chris’s body himself, clutching him even tighter as he does. As soon as he is spent, he pulls Chris in close, and Chris melts against his chest, tucking his face into his neck, and they breathe together for a long time, until their sweat has cooled and Zach’s heart stops racing and time returns to its usual pace.

Eventually Chris gets up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back with a washcloth for Zach, but then he disappears again, and Zach listens to the water run while he stares at the ceiling. This is supposed to feel better, he thinks. This feeling is supposed to come with sunshine and butterflies, not a great, gaping emptiness in his heart.

“I love you,” he says, not loud enough for Chris to hear. But Chris pokes his head out of the bathroom anyway.

“Huh?” He’s smiling, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

Zach summons the wherewithal to smile back while he swipes half-heartedly at his stomach, wiping away the evidence. “Nothing,” he says. “I didn’t say anything.”

———

Against all Zach’s better judgment, he and Chris hardly leave his apartment over the next two days. Chris has to go meet a friend for coffee one time, and Zach leaves periodically to walk the dog alone, but other than that, they spend the majority of the time in bed, fucking a lot and talking only a little.

At the end of the second day, there’s another party to go to, and this one is worse than the first. It’s twice as big, for one, and worse still he and Chris get pulled in opposite directions for most of it. But it’s probably for the best. The internet is already abuzz with the fact that they were photographed together not once but twice the other day. Of course, most people are just happy that another generation of Kirk and Spock seem to get along off screen, but sometimes the publicists worry, and when the publicists worry, Chris worries—and Zach worries for him.

He catches Chris by the bar after they have been there a couple hours, and he slides up next to him, touching his arm and then pulling his hand away quickly. “Hey,” he says, pitching his voice low. “Let me know when you want to head out. I’m ready when—”

“Actually…” Chris’s smile is pained, and Zach feels his heart rate ratchet up in apprehension. “Actually, I have an early flight tomorrow, and the car is coming to the hotel, so I should probably stay there tonight.”

“Oh.” It must be the wrong tone of voice, because Chris looks worried. Zach tries again: “Yeah, of course. That’s cool.”

Chris licks his lips, then takes a deep breath. “I’ll be back in a week, Zach.”

“What?” This time the flutter in Zach’s chest is from something else entirely. Hope, maybe.

“Yeah. The Met Gala. And…I figured I’d stay a couple extra days again. To hang out.”

Zach grins and reaches out to lay his hand on the back of Chris’s wrist. “That would be great. You’re…you’re always welcome here, Chris. I hope you know that.”

Chris nods slowly, be he’s looking down at the place where Zach is touching him. When he looks up again, there is nervousness in his eyes, and he casts a furtive glance around the room, as if to see if anyone is looking. Zach yanks his hand back and shoves it in his pocket, his other hand tightening so much on the glass he’s holding that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break into a million slivers.

“So, a week,” Zach says, trying to gloss over the awkward moment. “Let me know if there’s anything you want to do while you’re here. I’ll start making plans.”

Chris smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

They chat for a few more minutes, but Chris never really regains his ease, and Zach starts to feel like an interloper. Eventually he makes excuses to go talk to a Heroes costar, but he later ends up regretting it. Barely half an hour goes by before Chris finds him and tells him he’s leaving, while he’s standing in a circle of people and can’t slip away inconspicuously. All they get is a perfunctory hug and a ‘see you in a week’, and then Chris is disappearing into the crowd. 

Zach stares after him for a moment or two longer than is strictly necessary, wishing he could go with him, thinking about the fear on his face when he was looking down at Zach’s hand on his wrist.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these updates have been coming slower than intended. Writing hasn't been super easy for me lately, but I'm doing my best! I hope my speed will improve over the coming chapters, but I know better than to make promises at this point.
> 
> Thanks to RC for talking me off a cliff. <3

  
**May 2010**  
_i can't stay this time_  


The click of cameras meets them the moment they step out onto the sidewalk, and Zach steels himself. There aren’t many of them—just a small handful—but one paparazzo could be too much for Chris, even on a good day, and the jury is still out on whether this is going to be a good day or not. Spontaneous necking in the hotel room notwithstanding, Chris has seemed tired and distant all morning. He ate his room service breakfast mechanically, and he wasn’t as excited as he normally is about helping Zach out with the crossword in the paper. When Zach suggested they go for a walk, see some sights, he had agreed, but it seemed a little reluctant. And now they’re going to get accosted by these vultures. Lovely.

“Where did you say we were headed again?” Chris mumbles, pulling the brim of his cap down a little further.

“I didn’t say.” He planned to walk aimlessly until they stumbled across something that he wanted to show Chris, but obviously that’s no longer an option. “We could go to this coffee shop I know. It’s a few blocks away, but we can hang out there until these guys give up and go home.”

“More like go on to the next unsuspecting victims,” Chris sighs. “Sure, that sounds fine.”

They ignore a flurry of questions about where they are headed, how long Chris is in New York, and a few pointed mentions of Liz Banks. Chris took her as his date to the Met Gala three nights ago, which means now everyone is convinced there’s something going on between them. Zach has to bite back the overwhelming urge to tell the paps that Chris dropped Elizabeth off at her hotel that night and then came to his place, where he stayed until the wee hours of the morning, letting Zach turn him into a whimpering, shivering mess. But that would be a bad idea, and not only because Chris would never speak to him again. Normally Zach is just as protective of his privacy as Chris is. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him.

Chris is white-knuckling the oh-so-typical stack of print media he’s holding between them like a shield—one newspaper, one book, one moleskin. Zach imagines him snapping and throwing the contents of his hand frisbee-style to take out a few of the cameras, then sprinting in the opposite direction, leaving Zach in the dust. The thought should be amusing, but it just makes him feel sick. Aversion to paparazzi aside, Zach bets Chris wouldn’t be this on-edge if he was out for a walk with one of his gal pals. He wonders if they will ever live in a world where this would be normal, where Chris would be at ease and smiling at him instead of staring at the sidewalk and chewing the hell out of his lip. Probably not, but apparently that’s not going to stop Zach from daydreaming about it. 

For now, he does the only thing he can do—he tries to be a distraction. After a block or so, he has completely lost track of what it is that he’s talking about, but he keeps talking anyway, gesturing animatedly with his hands to keep them from hanging at his sides, where they would perilously close to brushing Chris’s. Chris makes quiet sounds of acknowledgment and agreement every so often, but Zach can tell that the only incessant chatter Chris is hearing is that of the camera shutters.

When they reach the coffee shop, Zach holds the door open for Chris, who darts inside, looking over his shoulder like there are angry dogs snapping at his heels. 

“They won’t follow us in here, right?”

Zach takes off his sunglasses and hooks them into the neck of his shirt so Chris can witness his eye roll. It’s supposed to be good-natured, but he can feel actual annoyance welling up inside him. “No, Christopher, they won’t follow us in here. What’s your problem?”

Chis glances at Zach’s face and then looks away again. “Come on, you know I hate having cameras shoved in my face.”

“Yeah, but—” He cuts himself off. This isn’t the time or place for this conversation—not in the middle of a relatively crowded coffee shop where anyone could overhear them. He sighs and touches Chris on the elbow, then nods toward the line. Once they have their coffee in hand, they pick a small table near the back, but Chris keeps glancing toward the windows, like he expects to see the paps pressed against them.

“They’ll get bored and go away,” Zach says, his tone more reassuring this time. “There are plenty of other celebs to chase around. Bigger ones than us.”

Chris’s hand goes unconsciously to his neck, where it brushes across the faint red mark high up near his ear. It’s not a full-blown love bite; it’s barely even dark enough to be noticed, especially when Chris’s skin is already blotchy from anxiety. But still, Zach should have been more careful. He may not care as much about what the paps catch, but he cares that Chris cares. He is treading on thin ice as it is. At any moment, Chris could tell him that they have to stop sneaking around, that it’s not worth the risk. 

“Please don’t say ‘celebs’ ever again,” Chris says instead, then shoots him a half-hearted smile over the rim of his cup. At least he’s progressed to the laughing-it-off stage. That’s a good sign. Zach relaxes a little bit and leans forward, folding his arms on the table.

“Tell me about this play you’re doing,” he says.

That proves to be a decent distraction. Chris gets this dreamy, satisfied look on his face and launches into a summary of the Lieutenant of Inishmore, his voice curling lovingly around scenes of violence that probably don’t quite deserve loving descriptions. But who is Zach to talk? There was a time when he could wax poetic about a man who devoured brains. It’s funny how that’s already fading away in his rearview, even though at one point he thought it was the best thing that would ever happen to him. His perspective has changed so much in just one year.

“You sure you can pull off a character like that, Pine?” Zach asks when Chris’s excited monologue comes to an end. “Sounds pretty dark for you.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “Please. You underestimate me, as usual. I’ve got hidden depths.”

“Hidden creepy depths?” Zach waggles his eyebrows, but his grin feels forced. 

“Every kind of depth you can think of, my friend.”

Something akin to jealousy plucks at his chest and makes him duck his head so Chris can’t see it on his face. Chris is so effortlessly ingenuous, and it’s hard not to resent him for it a little bit. Zach wants to be able to like him less. He would love to be able to spend less time thinking about him; he would love not to miss him when he’s gone. But no, Chris has to go and be the guy who can melt you with a smile, who can play a sociopath as well as a heartthrob or lovable starship captain, who has as much brains as he has beauty. Even his episode of over-the-top paparazzi fear is turning endearing the longer Zach thinks about it. 

It makes him feel even more irritable. Why can’t Chris just turn it off for a day? Why can’t he show Zach just one flaw—or rather, one flaw that doesn’t somehow make him seem like a better person overall? 

“I think the paps have moved on to greener pastures,” Zach says, looking past Chris out the window. “You want to go by the library?”

He knew Chris’s face would light up at that, and he isn’t disappointed. Maybe Zach doesn’t have much chance of cheering up today, but at least one of them can be happy. That’s the other thing Chris does to him: makes him feel compelled to take care of him. Whether it’s distracting him from the flock of media vultures or making sure his last day in New York is as great as it can possibly be. And then there is that small part of him that thinks maybe if everything is perfect, Chris will want to come back to visit even more. Zach isn’t completely confident that he alone is enough of a draw. But the New York Public Library? No literary nerd can resist that.

“Hell yeah, I do,” Chris says, grinning. He drains his coffee and gets to his feet, bouncing a little as he waits for Zach to join him. 

Zach rolls his eyes as he stands up and brushes past him. “God, Pine. You’re like a child.”

Chris jostles him as they walk toward the door, and after he chucks his cup in the trashcan, he turns and sticks his tongue out. Zach wants to catch it between his teeth. He wants to apply his own tongue to the hollow of Chris’s neck. He wants to remind him why he’s here, why he’s _supposed_ to be here—not for some stupid gala, not for a library, not for any part of the city around them. It would be a relief to hear him say it just once. _I’m here for you, Zach. I wanted to see you._

Zach pushes up the door and lets Chris walk through it first, but when his hand brushes for the briefest of seconds across the small of his back, Chris shoots him a scolding look. A blush creeps up his neck, and he looks away to push his sunglasses back onto his face. Yeah, he’s being rebellious, but he thinks he’s about due for it. If Chris doesn’t like it, well, he’ll be gone tomorrow.

———

Back at the hotel, they clean out the mini bar. Well, mostly Zach cleans out the mini bar. The little looks Chris is shooting him are tinged with too much concern, but it isn’t long before he’s too drunk to care, sprawled on his back on the bed with his limbs flung wide. One ankle is hooked over Chris’s, and the other is falling off the edge of the bed. His hand is splayed across Chris’s stomach, his thumb tucked up under the edge of his t-shirt. It seems like it’s been a long time since either of them moved or spoke, but intoxication has made time start to act funny, speeding up and slowing down in turns.

“When do you think you’ll be back next?” Zach slurs. Above him, the blades of the ceiling fan blur together, making him feel dizzy until he shuts his eyes. Still, the world tilts. He wonders if he should get up and go into the bathroom, just as a precaution. Just in case—

“Oh, not for a while.”

It takes a moment for Zach to remember what Chris is responding to. When his sluggish brain catches up, he makes an incredulous noise. “How come?”

“The play, remember?” Chris says, placing his hand over Zach’s and giving it a squeeze.

Oh, right. The play. 

“So, how are we supposed to make this work then?” Zach asks, having momentarily lost the filter between his brain and his mouth. He realizes a second too late that he’s going to hate himself for that one in the morning.

Chris’s grip on his hand tightens to the point of being painful, but then he lets go and sits up. “What does that mean? How are we supposed to make what work?”

Or maybe it won’t take until tomorrow for Zach to hate himself. He takes his hand off of Chris’s thigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to get enough of a hold on himself to salvage this somehow. He can practically feel Chris’s desire to run in the way he’s holding himself tense against Zach’s side. They are in _Chris’s_ hotel room, and yet Zach wouldn’t put it past him to bolt anyway. 

“I mean…” He sighs and opens his eyes, tries to judge Chris’s expression upside down. “I mean, are we…have you been fucking other people?” 

And that, too, is the wrong thing to say.

“Have you _not_ been fucking other people?” Chris’s voice is shrill in a way it never is, and suddenly Zach really does think he might have to run for the bathroom. He pushes himself up a little too fast and has to pause to press his palm to his forehead and swallow down a bout of nausea. Chris’s hand clamps down on his shoulder. “Look, man, we’re both pretty trashed. Maybe now is not the time to be—”

“If not now, when, Chris? The next time you blow through town, whenever that happens to be?”

“Fuck.” Chris jerks away and gets to his feet. Zach looks up, thinking maybe he really is about to run, but instead he hovers there beside the bed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, clenching and unclenching his fists. If he were anyone else, Zach would be worried he is going to hit something. “Fuck, Zach, you can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” Zach snaps. “Can’t just expect all this to mean something? Yeah, fuck me, right?”

“Goddamnit, _you_ are the one that moved away!” Zach gapes, but Chris doesn’t seem to want to linger on that point. He blows right on past it like it never even happened. “And you…I don’t understand what you want from me. What are we going to do, walk down the sidewalk holding hands? You know we can’t.”

That’s just the thing. Zach isn’t sure he knows that anymore. When he got into this business, everyone he spoke to warned him that his career wouldn’t get off the ground if he didn’t stay in the closet, and he had believed them. But back then he hadn’t know exactly what he was giving up. Back then he hadn’t had everything he wanted standing right in front of him. 

He must have been quiet too long, because Chris makes an incredulous noise. “You know we can’t, right? Zach?”

This is the moment where Zach knows he should probably lay all his cards out on the table. He should tell Chris that this has gone way beyond casual sex for him. He should tell Chris that he’s _in love_ with him. But as he stares at Chris and sees the tension in his shoulders and the fear in his eyes, he knows that once again he’s going to be a coward. If being honest means he might lose Chris, then he’s going to keep on lying. Only having part of him is better than having none of him at all.

“I know,” he sighs, letting his posture slump dramatically. He lowers his eyes to the bedspread. With his vision blurred by alcohol and emotion, the stripes in the fabric shiver like blades of grass in the wind. “I know that we can’t.”

Chris is silent for what seems like a long time. Both of them are silent. The ceiling fan is a little wobbly, and it sounds like a heartbeat; Zach tries to match his breathing to its rhythm.

Finally, after what seems like forever, Chris climbs back onto the bed and knee-walks to Zach’s side. He wraps his hand around the back of his neck, his touch tentative until Zach leans into it and sighs with helpless contentment. It seems impossible that Chris doesn’t know how he feels about him already.

“Zach, if this isn’t…if this isn’t working, then we should probably—”

“No.” Zach grasps Chris’s wrist and turns clumsily to face him. “No, it’s working just fine. Forget everything I said, okay? I’m just…drunk. Maudlin. Making too big a deal out of all this.”

“Are you sure?” Chris asks, his gaze wary. “Because if this is fucking everything up, it’s not worth it.”

Zach isn’t sure of much of anything, but he’s willing to say whatever it takes to smooth this over right now. Maybe he should be taking the long view, thinking about how hard this could be down the road, but it’s late, and he’s had a lot to drink, and he’s scared about what happens if they are on bad terms when he leaves this room. 

“You said something about me moving away,” Zach says. He’s still clutching Chris’s arm, and he runs his thumb across the skin in hopes that he can soothe Chris into forgetting all the things Zach let slip but shouldn’t have. “You aren’t mad at me for that, are you?”

Chris sighs—wearily, like he has already agonized far too much about the answer to that question. “How could I be? You have to do what’s best for you. And I’m happy for you, Zach. I really am. But it feels like you’re pulling me closer and pushing me away at the same time, and I’m not sure what you want me to do with that.”

“I don’t want you to do anything with it.” Zach makes himself mean that, at least for this moment. He pushes down all the resentment he feels, all the anger, and will himself to believe that none of this is Chris’s fault. “It’s just difficult sometimes. I got used to you being there all the time. It just takes an adjustment period.”

“Are you…” Chris looks down at where Zach’s fingers are wrapped around his wrist. He licks his lips. “Are you seriously not seeing anyone else? I didn’t think we were…”

The thought of Chris being with other people makes Zach feel like he could burst into flame, but he ignores that too. “We’re not. We never were, were we? We never had that conversation.”

“Yeah, but if I gave you the wrong impression—”

“You didn’t.” 

“It’s just that I can’t do the secret relationship thing, Zach. Not for real.”

Zach lets out a frustrated breath and shuts his eyes, needing a break from the earnest expression on Chris’s face. “Neither can I,” he lies. Shouldn’t Chris be able to tell that he’s lying? Maybe not. Not if he’s only seeing what he wants to see. “Now would you please stop worrying about it?”

He opens his eyes again and lets go of Chris’s arm so he can lift his hand and palm the side of his face instead. Chris’s bottom lip is shiny and tempting, so he focuses on that instead of all his complicated emotions. He runs his thumb across it, and feels a little better when Chris’s breath wavers and his eyes flutter. At least that desire is still there. That is enough to make Zach feel powerful.

“I don’t want you to go back to LA on this note,” Zach says.

Chris searches Zach’s face. “Yeah? What note do you want me to go back on?”

Zach slides his hand to the back of Chris’s neck and tugs and shifts until they are both horizontal again, when Chris stretched out half on top of him. He slings his arm around his waist and gets a grip on his hair with his other hand, dragging him up for a kiss. Chris is stiff at first, but he melts into it quickly, his fingers resting heartbreakingly gently on Zach’s chest, like he’s afraid he’ll break him. The bed is still listing a little, like a ship on a rough sea, but if Zach can cling to Chris hard enough or kiss him long enough, he’s convinced it will settle.


	4. Chapter 4

**June 2010**  
_please don't fall apart_

Maybe Zach should have sold the LA house. Turning into the driveway, even when he’s in the back of a taxi, feels a little too much like coming home. The miniature palm trees out front have grown fatter and sprouted more fronds, and the star jasmine wasn’t in bloom the last time he was here, but otherwise everything looks just the same. He fits his key into the lock with some reticence, expecting to be hit with the wrongness of it at any moment, but even pushing the door open has an air of familiarity. It feels like coming back from a long shoot, or even just a long day of filming. It feels like he never really left, which is what he was afraid of.

The plan right now is to turn his house into offices for Before the Door. Zach payed off the mortgage a while back with his Trek money, so it makes more financial sense to keep it than to continue renting a space. Both Neal and Corey have keys, and Zach sees they have already started moving stuff in. He lets Noah off his leash, then starts walking through the house, cataloging the changes. A few short filing cabinets sit against the wall in the living room. One of the extra bedrooms now has a desk in it. But when Zach walks into his room, he finds it just as he remembered it, down to the slight wrinkle in the bedspread where he sat on it the day he left, to look around and take it all in one last time. Zach smooths it out with his hand, then sits down in that spot again. He takes a deep breath into his lungs and imagines that the air tastes different here. There is something sweeter about it, but less exciting. Less electric. Calmer. 

He takes his phone out of his pocket and dials Chris on autopilot.

“Hey, man!” Chris chirps brightly. “Are you here?”

“I’m here,” Zach says, smiling in spite of himself. “Just got in.”

“Great! I was just about to go out and get tacos. Have you eaten yet? You want me to bring you something?”

Zach considers for a moment. He has a busy day tomorrow, and he was planning on making an early night of it. It’s tempting to invite Chris over anyway, but he doesn’t want to rush it. He doesn’t want to fit Chris in between everything else. Especially not with so much weighing on his mind. 

“Not tonight,” he sighs. “I’m too wiped, I think. But day after tomorrow? I’m having the guys over for lunch, but you could come by mid-afternoon?”

“Works for me,” Chris says without hesitation. “I’ll clear my calendar.”

“You’re too kind,” Zach says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll call you when Neal and Corey leave.”

“Awesome. See you in a couple days, Zachary.”

“See you, Chris.” 

Zach ends the call and flops back onto the bed, putting his hands over his eyes and trying to convince himself that everything is normal. He meant to wait to get in contact with Chris, but he should have known his willpower wouldn’t hold out. 

It’s been a little over a month since they saw each other last, which isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, but it feels like a lifetime. Last week, Zach had his second birthday in a row where Chris wasn’t there. Now that he’s here in LA, it seems almost criminal that Chris’s face isn’t the first thing he sees. But after the way things went the last time Chris was in New York, he is trying to make himself chill a little, trying not to be so grasping, so jealous. He has legitimate reasons to be here that have nothing to do with Chris. He has work to do, people to see. His heart is supposed to be on the back burner for now.

Maybe someday he’ll figure out how to make his heart listen to him.

———

The next day he runs around so much he hardly has time to think about Chris. First it’s breakfast with his brother, then a lunch meeting with an old director friend who wants to pitch him a new short. After that, he’s obligated to attend a party-cum-networking-event, one of those gatherings of industry people where no one seems to know whether they are working or socializing. A lot of people Zach has worked with before in some capacity are there, and many of them express interest in working with him again in the near future, but he can’t tell if anything is actually going to come of it. Usually he navigates these things pretty well, but his radar must be broken, because he can’t seem to figure out what he should be taking seriously and what is just a thin veneer of bullshit. This is why he left, he remembers. In New York, acknowledging work outside of work is almost taboo. In LA, it’s like there is nothing else to talk about. People just can’t shut up about the movie they’re trying to get made, the movie they’re making, the movie they recently made. 

He ignores the voice in his head, the one that sounds suspiciously like Chris, that reminds him that he loves to talk about the work.

By the time he gets home, he’s strangely exhausted. Usually a long day around people leaves him energized, even keyed-up, but he barely has the energy to take Noah for a quick walk before he falls into bed. When he checks his phone, he has one text message and one missed call. The text is from Chris, asking him what kind of alcohol he wants for tomorrow night. As if it’s a foregone conclusion that they’re going to need alcohol. How prescient of him.

_red wine would be good_ , Zach texts back. _i’m making italian_

He stares at the screen for a long time, thinking Chris might respond back, but he doesn’t. Knowing him, he might already be asleep, passed out on his bed with a book on his chest. Zach fixes that mental image in his head and lingers on it longer than he should, letting it soothe him. When it isn’t soothing any longer, he makes himself turn his attention to the missed call. 

It’s from Jon. Zach hesitates for a minute or two before dialing him.

“Zach?” 

It isn’t until he hears how groggy Jon sounds that Zach realizes how late it is in New York right now. He swears under his breath. “Hi. Yeah. It’s me. Sorry for calling so late. I just got in and I didn’t think about the time difference.”

“The time difference?” Jon asks sleepily. Zach can hear the rustle of sheets in the background.

“Um, yeah. I’m in LA right now.”

“Oh.” There is a beat of silence. “I guess that answers my question then. I was going to ask if you wanted to get coffee tomorrow.”

Zach lets out a strained laugh. “Sorry. I’m going to be here for about a week.”

“It’s alright. You there for work, or…?”

“Mostly work,” Zach says, then mentally kicks himself for that ‘mostly’.

He and Jon met through mutual theater friends, and they had been seeing each other more and more often in the couple weeks before Zach left for LA. It’s nothing more than a budding friendship at this point, but Zach hasn’t missed how Jon’s eyes linger or how his smile gets brighter when Zach walks into a room. And Zach likes him a lot, if he’s being honest. If he’s _really_ being honest, he has to admit that Jon reminds him of Chris in some ways. He has the same ingenuousness, the same childlike enthusiasm. Plus, Jon has a true passion for theater that Zach finds inspiring and grounding. It reminds him that he didn’t really get into acting because he wanted to be a movie star. He loves the stage, and he enjoys being around other people who love the stage.

“Well,” Jon says, “give me a call when you’re back in the city?”

There is a tentativeness in his voice that makes Zach want to smile and cringe at the same time. He needs to be careful here. His head and his heart are still tangled up in Chris, and he doesn’t want to give Jon the wrong idea. Still, he finds himself saying, “Of course I will.”

They say their good nights, and Zach can hear Jon’s smile. When he hangs up, he is smiling too. 

Then, he sees that Chris texted back after all. 

_Pasta? This is why you’re my favorite._

And just like that, Jon is forgotten. Zach runs his thumb across the words on the screen and then closes his eyes, gripping his phone hard enough that it makes his hand hurt. Tomorrow. He’ll see Chris tomorrow.

———

“Does it even really make sense to have our HQ down here?” Zach asks, drumming his fingers anxiously on his knee. Neal and Corey stop what they’re doing and look up in perfect sync, with matching expressions of disbelief on their face. The three of them have been sorting through hard copies of scripts, picking out the ones that look most promising and filing the rest away. Margin Call is going to start filming in a couple weeks, and it’s about time to start getting something in the works for after that. Zach has been having trouble concentrating though. He keeps looking at the clock. He keeps second-guessing every decision, including the one that put the three of them here in the first place.

“Sorry, what was that?” Neal says with irony in his tone. “For a second I thought you might be suggesting that Corey and I moved all this shit in here by ourselves for nothing.”

“No, no. That’s not what I’m saying,” Zach says. “I’m just thinking out loud. Do you guys really think it makes sense? With me on the east coast now…”

“Zach,” Corey sighs. “We talked about this. LA is still the place where movies get made.”

Zach knows that. And he knows that the fact that he’s three thousand miles away most of the time only helps them, since he is making more connections they can leverage for their projects. At the same time, he’s not sure he knows anything for sure. He’s overwhelmed. It’s been creeping up on him since he landed at LAX, but now, with only a couple hours until Chris shows up, it’s hitting him with full force. He doesn’t trust himself. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Luckily, in this area, he doesn’t have to rely completely on his own judgment. Neal drops the file in his hands and crosses to the kitchen to retrieve the bottle of wine they opened earlier, then pours the rest of it into Zach’s empty glass. He picks it up and hands it to him and falls down next to him on the couch, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Look, dude, I know you’re freaking. This is our first big project, and you just moved, and you’ve got a lot on your mind. But we got this, okay? We’re going to be fine. Plus, it’s not like we’re locked in. If this space doesn’t work out, we’ll move somewhere else. It’ll never be too late to course-correct.”

Zach takes a generous gulp from his glass and nods, acknowledging Neal’s logic. “Okay but…do you think it was a good idea for me to move? Maybe I should be here. Or at least be here for part of the year. Or—”

“Jesus, Zach,” Corey cuts in. “Isn’t it a little late to be having a nervous breakdown? Listen, you can live wherever you want to live. You can help us as much in New York as you could here. And this way you get to have the best of both worlds, remember? Your play this fall, and Margin Call before that. We’re living the dream, man. Why are you second-guessing?”

The short answer is that he’s an idiot. The long answer is eluding him. Either way, thank fuck for good friends. He forces himself to take a deep breath, in and out, then smiles at them. “Sorry, guys. There’s just a lot going on right now. I guess I feel like I’m sort of at loose ends.”

Neal gives him a companionable slap on the shoulder before standing up again. “It’ll be better once filming starts, I’m sure. You’ve been sitting idle for too long, my friend.”

“I’ve hardly been idle,” Zach grumbles.

“Not practicing your craft then. Whatever.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe the lack of acting has been driving Zach crazy. That’s how he’s always processed his feelings, anyway. Or at least sublimated them. Hopefully the mess in his head will work itself out within the next few months. He sighs and takes another long drink from his glass, then sets it down and rubs his hands together. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s get back to work. Obviously I need to stop navel-gazing.”

Neal snorts in agreement and Corey wings a manila folder at him, and he settles in to focus on work. He manages not to look at the clock for a whole five minutes.

———

Unfortunately, he’s already a little tipsy when Chris shows up. He had another glass of wine while he was cooking, and he poured one more after he turned the heat down on the bolognese to let it simmer. When the doorbell rings, he takes that glass with him to answer it, so he can use it as a shield. His defenses are already down, and he needs all the help he can get.

“I see you got started without me,” Chris says once the door opens. He raises his eyebrows like he expects some explanation, but Zach just shrugs and steps back to let him in.

“It’ll still be a minute until food is ready. Neal and Corey left a little later than expected.”

“No problem. Get a lot of work done?” Chris asks as he brushes by Zach, pausing to give Noah ear scratches. Zach watches as he goes to put the wine in the kitchen, then get a glass out for himself. He still moves as comfortably through Zach’s house as he ever did. As far as Zach can remember, he was comfortable here from minute one, the very first time he came over. 

“It was just a lot of filing and sorting,” Zach says. He’s hovering in the living room, near the couch, unsure whether he should follow Chris into the kitchen or not. “Moving the company here was a good excuse to go through everything. I guess we got a lot done, but it felt like busy work.”

Chris strolls into the room and over to him, one hand in his pocket. He clinks their glasses together. “Busy work is still work. But you can relax for tonight, right?”

“Right,” Zach says, hiding his smile in his glass. Once he’s taken a drink, he sets his wine down on the coffee table and gestures at the couch. “Make yourself at home. I should check on the sauce and get the pasta started.”

While Zach finishes cooking, they keep up a steady stream of small talk, half-yelling back and forth from the living room to the kitchen. Both because Zach is too lazy to sit at the table and because it would feel too formal, he brings bowls of pasta into the living room, and they eat on the couch, Zach with his legs tucked up under him and Chris with a ream of paper towels tucked into the neck of his t-shirt. For a while, it’s just like old times. There is no awkwardness between them, no weight on Zach’s shoulders, no dread in the pit of his stomach. Chris tells embarrassing stories from rehearsals for his play and makes Zach laugh until he’s wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. Their wine glasses never stay empty for long. By the time the food is gone, Zach feels better than he’s felt in a long time. He sets his bowl on the coffee table and then props his elbow on the back of the couch, his chin on his hand, and stares Chris down.

“I missed this,” he says. “Nights like this.”

“Yeah, me too,” Chris says. He smiles sincerely and sets his bowl down too. Zach makes himself sit still when Chris reaches out and pats his knee. “I’m glad you came back to visit. It still feels weird not having you here, you know?”

Zach didn’t know, actually. He turns his face away and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, trying to decide what to say to that. “It feels weird not being here,” he says at last, staring down at the floor. “I’m not sure whether to think of it as home or not.”

“New York is your home now,” Chris says without hesitation. “It just might take you a little while to get used to it. Just like it’s taking me a while for me to get used to the fact that you’re not coming back. Not really.”

Zach looks up at that, his brow pinching in confusion. “Is it really that hard?”

Chris licks his lips and shrugs, like he regrets saying anything in the first place. Before Zach can even consider reaching out to him, Chris gets up from the couch and grabs their bowls, then heads for the kitchen.

Zach gets to his feet too. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“I want to,” Chris says. “You were nice enough to host when you’re plenty busy. I can wash a few dishes.”

Zach follows him into the kitchen and leans idly by the sink while Chris rinses out the bowls and puts them in the dishwasher, then puts away the remainder of the pasta and sauce and scrubs out the pots. The comfortable feeling is still there—amplified even, given the domestic little picture they make—but Zach is starting to worry about the words that are on the tip of his tongue, the things he hasn’t let himself say yet but wants to say now. He made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t put any more pressure on Chris, but watching him now, his lips pursed in concentration, his forearms coated in soap suds, that promise seems impossible. This is real. This is right. When they’re together like this, everything is as it should be, and nothing else matters.

As soon as Chris finishes drying his hands, Zach snags him by the forearm. He leans back against the counter and pulls Chris into the V of his legs and wraps his arms low around his waist. Chris laughs a little nervously and flattens his hands against Zach’s chest, then runs them up to his shoulders. 

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Why do we have to miss nights like this, Chris?”

Chris starts to pull away at that, but Zach tightens his hold on him, determined to make him give him a real answer. He’s probably being an idiot. He probably shouldn’t ruin the good night they were having. But he has a lot of wine in him, and he isn’t sure if it’s worth it to keep going the way they’ve been going. 

“Zach, don’t,” Chris pleads. “You know why.”

“I _don’t_ know why.” He has an inkling, but now he finds that he needs to hear it. No more hiding. No more hiding for himself either. “I want this,” he says. “I want to be with you. For real. Whatever that means, whatever consequences in comes with. Are you saying you don’t want that too?”

“I…we can’t.” Finally Chris struggles himself free. He backs off to the opposite counter, running his fingers through his hair and avoiding Zach’s eyes. “I thought we settled this.”

Zach sighs, spreads his hands, and lays it all on the table. “I love you, Chris. I’m in love with you. I’m tired of pretending it’s anything less than that.”

There is a wide range of responses that Zach has prepared himself for—everything from laughter to anger to a heartfelt confession of love in return—but the one thing he hadn’t banked on is exactly what he gets: Chris looking completely shocked, like he had no clue. Yes, Zach never told him he loved him outright before now, but he assumed it was obvious. 

“I told you I can’t do this,” Chris says. “I can’t sustain that kind of secret. Especially if it means flying back and forth to see each other and—”

“So what if it isn’t a secret? Why do we have to keep it a secret?” 

Chris gapes. A few seconds of silence tick by before he speaks again. “I shouldn’t even have to answer that. Why does it have to be a secret? Where do I even _start_? Paramount would have a cow, for one. Then there’s our careers to think about. Anyway, that’s all leaving aside the fact that you live on the opposite fucking coast now. And the fact that…that…”

“That what?” Zach spits. He laid himself bare, and Chris isn’t having any of it, and the only choice he has now is to be angry, to use that anger like a shield. “ _What_ , Christopher?”

“I’m not this guy!” Chris snaps. He gestures around them, at the kitchen, at the whole house. “I can tell, in your head you’ve built me up to be this prince charming, this perfect boyfriend who will be the missing piece in your life, but I can’t be that for you, Zach. I barely know what the fuck I’m doing in my own life. I’m definitely not at a place where I can risk my career for something like this, for the off-chance that it’ll work out.”

Zach feels like he’s been pushed off a cliff, like he’s falling and falling and might not ever hit the ground. He grips the counter behind him and tries to stay calm, but it’s too late for that. “So why are you still fucking me, huh? Why do you come around and tell me you miss me? Why are you even fucking here?”

“Because…” Finally, Chris seems to have run out of answers. He hangs his head, his shoulders slumping wearily. “Because this is us. This is what we do.”

It’s the worst thing he could have said. It would have been kinder if he’d used the term “fuck buddy” or something equally insulting. Instead, he’s reduced the entirety of their relationship with each other to something small, something you could wave away with your hand, fleeting like smoke. We come together, we do this, we split apart, we go on with our lives. Except Zach never got the memo, and he has never gone on with his life, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to do that now either.

For a few anxiety-filled moments, he thinks he’s going to cry. His throat is closing up, and his eyes are stinging, and he has to look away from Chris’s face, because he can’t stand to see the determination in his eyes—determination to make Zach understand that he doesn’t want to be with him.

“I think you should go,” he says thickly.

“Zach.” Chris steps forward, his hand outstretched like he’s approaching a nervous dog. “Don’t do this. Please. Things have been fine—”

“No, things have not been fine. Not for me.” Zach swallows hard and meets Chris’s eyes. “I just need you to not be here right now.”

It actually helps that Chris looks stricken. He takes another step forward, like he’s thinking about grabbing Zach and hanging on to him, and Zach almost wishes he would. But instead, his hand falls back to his side and he nods once, a silent concession.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is rough with emotion. Zach is glad he’s not alone on that front, at least. “We should never have—”

“ _Don’t._ ” Zach cannot handle Chris saying it was all a mistake right now. That would be one final twist of the knife. “Don’t,” he says again, quieter. “Just go. Please.”

Chris swallows hard and nods once again. “Okay.”

Zach stands there and keeps his death grip on the counter while Chris gathers up the bag he brought the wine on and slips on his shoes. He stares at the floor and listens to Chris’s footsteps as they criss-cross the living room until they pause briefly near the door. A clock ticks somewhere in the house, measuring out far too many seconds, seconds in which Zach wishes Chris would say something that would make it all better. Instead, the door opens, then closes. Then, Zach is alone.

———

He was gone one week, but it feels like it was a lifetime. After Chris left his house that night, they didn’t see each other again, and it took every ounce of strength Zach had not to pick up the phone and call him and tell him they should let things go back to the way they were. Work had kept him a little distracted, as had seeing other friends, but Chris was never far from his thoughts. It was agony to be in a city that screamed Chris at him from every street corner and to feel so distant from him. Chris hadn’t called him either, and he hadn’t texted. He gave Zach his space. It was what Zach wanted, but still it hurt.

It still hurts when he touches down in New York, and it still hurts when the cab drops him off at his apartment building. It hurts bad enough that he lets Noah jump up in bed with him and curl up against his side. Now he really doesn’t know when he and Chris will see each other again. He doesn’t know where this leaves them, and he’s not sure he wants to think about it long enough to figure out his end of it. All he wants to do is lick his wounds, maybe stay in bed for week.

That’s not an option though. He has work to do, a life to live. A movie coming up soon. He has to pull himself together.

With a sigh, he takes out his phone and starts scrolling through his contacts. Maybe if he gets together with some of his friends here, he’ll be reminded of why he moved and why his life is better off this way. And that there are far more fish in the sea. 

Or maybe he’ll stop scrolling at the name of the worst person he could talk to right now. He hits the call button before he can talk himself out of it.

“Hey, Zach.”

“Hey,” Zach says, forcing a smile that he hopes will come through in his voice. “You said I should call when I got back to New York.”

Jon lets out a little laugh, a beautiful, uncomplicated sound that fills Zach with relief. “I’m glad you did. Are you interested in getting that cup of coffee with me tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” It feels good to say the word, so Zach says it again: “Yeah. Yes. I’d love to.”


	5. Chapter 5

**October 2011**  
_i can't love you in the dark_

“Hey, babe, are you home?” Jon’s voice calls from the front hall.

Zach wants to snap at him; of _course_ he’s home. Where else would he be, given the circumstances? He has been hiding in the bedroom all morning, his cell phone sitting in front of him on the bed. So far, only two people have called. One of them was his agent, confirming that the article went out and that she would gather the relevant questions from the press and send them to him to decide which he wants to answer. The second was from his mother, who wanted to tell him she is proud of him. He and Joe talked on the phone last night, so he isn’t expecting to hear from him again. Now it’s just a waiting game. 

He isn’t sure what he’s waiting _for_ , really. He has intentionally surrounded himself with people who won’t think less of him for his sexuality. All of his closest friends already know he’s gay. Many of the people with whom he has a recurring professional relationship know as well. He isn’t expecting anyone to ring him up and call down fire and brimstone on his head. Some may think he’s crazy for doing this though. Some of them would have tried to talk him out of it, he’s sure. That’s why he didn’t tell hardly anyone—only immediate family, his agent, the relevant people at Paramount, and Jon. 

He didn’t even tell Chris. Maybe that’s the call he’s really dreading.

“I’m in here!” Zach calls, but he’s hesitated too long for it to be necessary. Jon has already appeared in the bedroom doorway. He’s grinning from ear to ear, unwinding a scarf from around his neck. His face is flushed bright pink from the autumn wind. Sometimes Zach thinks he looks like a porcelain doll, with his tooth-rottingly sweet face and his halo of curls.

“Why are you hiding?” Jon asks, smiling wider. He comes over and plops down on the bed so hard he bounces a little, then leans in for a kiss. “We should be out celebrating!”

Zach doesn’t feel much like going out. He’s still wearing his pajama pants, even though it’s nearly noon. He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around his phone like he thinks Jon will steal it from him.

“Maybe later,” he says.

“Aww, come on,” Jon says, his voice wheedling. He drops a kiss on Zach’s shoulder. “Day drinking! We can do that, you know. We’re responsible adults often enough. Anyway, this is a big day! You shouldn’t be in here moping.”

He’s completely right. Zach shouldn’t be moping. And it’s not even that he’s _moping_ , exactly. He just feels…off. He keeps waiting for the rush of relief or the swell of triumph, but he feels the same today as he did yesterday. If anything, he’s ashamed that he didn’t do this sooner. The sun came up this morning, and the world didn’t fall down around his ears, so why exactly was he waiting?

“I’m worried people will call,” Zach sighs.

“Honey, I hate to break this to your ego, but I doubt very many people have a Google Alert set up for your name. It might be days before everyone reads it.” Jon kisses his cheek and then gets up and heads out of the room again. “Get dressed, Zach,” he calls over his shoulder. “We’re going out!”

Zach sighs and stands up, stretching his arms high above his head and then twisting to work the kinks out of his lower back. It’ll be easier to just do as Jon says. He’s right, anyway. Probably not many people will be eagerly refreshing the New York Magazine website. Zach could go crazy sitting here all day staring at his phone and end up getting no calls. If he goes out, at least he has a chance at relaxing. Maybe they should call up some of their other friends and make it an impromptu party.

He’s rifling through his sock drawer when the phone rings. He practically dives for the bed and answers without looking to see who it is.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Zach.”

Zach lets out a shocked breath. “Chris?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Zach glances toward the doorway, chewing on his bottom lip. He can hear Jon moving around in the kitchen, probably making himself some coffee. The smart thing to do would be to tell Chris he’ll call him back later. And then to “forget” to call him back, probably. Instead, he hisses, “Give me a second,” then holds the phone to his chest and calls to Jon. “Hey, I’m going to take this call on the balcony, okay? We can go out after.”

“Okay!” Jon peeks around the door frame, grinning. “Who is it?”

“It’s…” Zach considers lying for a few seconds, then thinks better of it. “It’s Chris.”

“Ahh. Well, if _anyone_ would have that Google Alert…” With that, Jon winks at him and disappears again. His good nature and his trust make Zach’s heart clench.

Zach opens the sliding door and steps out onto the narrow balcony that extends along the back of his apartment. It’s cold—too cold to be standing out here barefoot, in pajamas—but Zach hardly feels it. There is no nice view out here, just the gray-brick building across a skinny, empty alleyway, but it feels more private than inside. More private might not mean safer though.

“Okay, I’m here,” he says when he puts the phone back to his ear.

“Jon’s there?” Chris asks.

“He’s…yeah, he’s here, but I—”

“Nevermind,” Chris says, barreling over him. “It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to tell you…congratulations, man.”

Zach lets out a long sigh, his breath condensing in the air. “How did you already hear about it? It’s still early there.”

“My agent called me, actually. I guess Paramount wanted all of us to know as soon as possible, in case people start stopping us on the streets and asking us what we think. They’re paranoid, if you ask me, but whatever. I’ll bet J.J. got a call too.”

“Oh God.” Zach pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t think he’ll be mad, do you?”

“Are you kidding me? He’ll be thrilled, Zach, come on. He’ll probably be the next one to call you.”

Zach wants to believe Chris is right, so he does. He lets the relief of it wash over him while he squeezes his eyes shut and wraps one hand around the railing to steady himself. This is ridiculous. He doesn’t need to be getting all emotional. He made a rational and morally tenable decision, and it doesn’t matter if anyone else validates it or not. Not J.J. Not any of his castmates. And certainly not Chris. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do this, Zach?” Chris asks quietly. “Didn’t you think I would support you?”

His relief fizzles at that, replaced by a surge of weariness. “What would make me think you would support me?” he asks. “How many times did you tell me that you couldn’t bear the thought of people finding out about us?”

“That’s just about me and my issues. That’s not about you. That was never about you.”

“So you really would have told me to just go for it? I don’t believe that. I think you would have tried to convince me not to do it.”

Chris sighs, which raises goosebumps on the back of Zach’s neck. It’s strange to have Chris’s voice so close when Chris himself has been so far away for so long. A sigh like that, right in Zach’s ear, brings back too many memories that he’d rather not think about right now. 

“I might have raised arguments,” Chris says. “But whatever you decided, I would have supported you. I _do_ support you.”

Zach is still skeptical, but it’s a moot point anyway. Whatever say Chris might have had in the decision was forfeit when Zach decided to move on, to be with Jon instead. Not that he was ever really _with_ Chris at all. Not in the ways that mattered. 

But right now, he doesn’t even want to allude to any of that. Over a year later, the wounds are still more raw than he’d like to admit. Even though Chris has been out of sight, he hasn’t been out of mind. If anything, it’s made things feel more unfinished. Zach thinks this may be one of those things he can never have closure on, not when they were so close to having a good thing. 

“I guess you’re about to have a real life case study in what coming out will do to a person’s career,” he says absently, leaning over the railing and staring down the long, long drop to the ground.

“Maybe,” Chris says. “Maybe not. I don’t think our careers are necessarily headed in the same direction. I keep getting put up for these big roles. Leading man roles.”

Zach nearly rolls his eyes at that, then mentally chides himself for his pettiness. “Is that what you want?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, Zach. I have no clue what I want. If I ever figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”

Zach is starting to feel the cold now. He shivers and shuffles from foot to foot, trying to keep warm and stay calm. So far, this conversation is both easier and harder than he thought it would be. If he’d really thought about it, he probably would have known that Chris wouldn’t begrudge him this, but at least if he was an asshole about it, Zach would know for sure that he had done the right thing in moving on. Or sort of moving on.

“Why now?” Chris asks.

This part, Zach has an easy answer for. Just hearing the question fills him with renewed conviction. “I couldn’t live with myself, knowing kids were giving up on life because they felt like there’s no hope for people like us. No light at the end of the tunnel. If I can be that light, for even one person, it’ll be worth it.”

Chris is silent for long enough that Zach almost asks if he’s still there. Then, there is a shuffling noise, like he’s switching the phone from one ear to the other. Zach listens hard, trying to guess where Chris is, what he might be doing. Is he still in bed? Is he standing out on his balcony like Zach is? Is he in the kitchen, trying to get himself caffeinated? Zach wishes they were together, having this conversation face to face, but he hasn’t seen Chris in almost nine months, and even then it was just for a quick lunch in LA and it was awkward and they needed a third person there as a chaperone. If Chris was here, now, things would be bad. Actually, they would be so good that they would swing back around to bad. That’s the way it always is with them.

“You’re a good man, Zach,” Chris says at last, proving he can make things exactly that good even from thousands of miles away. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you anything different, okay? You’re a good man, and I’m proud of you.”

Zach is crying so suddenly it’s shocking, like getting hit with a bucket of ice water—but, thank God, he’s managing to do it silently. Tears leak out of his eyes and track down his face, but there is no hitch in his breath, no need to suck in shuddery, sobbing gulps of air. He wipes surreptitiously at his chin and then his nose, taking great pains to make sure Chris doesn’t hear him. As grateful as he is to have Chris’s support, it feels important that he keep most of that gratitude to himself, just in case Chris can find a new way to twist it around and hurt him with it. On this issue, he’s too fragile. 

He’s proud of himself, too. He has to remember that. He’s proud that he realized that none of the reasons not to do this were good enough to stop him. He’s proud that he found that strength in himself, even if it does feel like it took a little longer than it should have.

“Thanks, Chris,” he sighs, once he’s certain he can do it without his voice breaking. “Really, thank you. That means a lot.”

“There’s no need to thank me. I’m just telling it like it is.” There is a pregnant pause before he goes on. “I’m sorry that you felt like I didn’t…Anyway, I’m just sorry.”

“Don’t,” Zach says. “It was stupid. Let’s forget about it.”

_Let’s forget about all of it,_ he adds in his head. 

Chris doesn’t answer, and Zach lets the silence grow for a while. They always did coexist well in silence, and even from thousands of miles away it feels like it is wrapping around both of them and bringing them closer together. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could even imagine Chris is standing right next to him. He doesn’t let himself close his eyes.

It all dissolves soon anyway, when the sound of rapping at the glass door behind him makes Zach nearly jump out of his skin. He turns around to see Jon waving at him, raising his eyebrows in silent question. Zach must have done a good enough job of wiping away the tears on his face, or else Jon is chalking the redness of his face up to the cold, because he doesn’t look alarmed. He mouths ‘Nearly done?’ and Zach holds up one finger and turns away again.

“Hey, listen, I’ve gotta—”

“Of course,” Chris says hurriedly. “I’m sure you’ve got big plans for today. Are you gonna go out and celebrate?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but Jon convinced me,” Zach says. 

“Good. You should enjoy yourself, man. And, uh, tell Jon I said hi, okay?”

Zach tries to pretend that isn’t a weird thing to request, that Chris is just a friend instead of an ex-lover and it’s normal for him to send well-wishes to Zach’s current boyfriend. That’s probably how Chris sees it anyway. 

“I will,” he says.

“And Zach?”

“Yeah?”

“Seriously…congratulations. I’m happy for you.”

After he hangs up, Zach has to remain on the balcony for another couple minutes to make sure he’s completely composed. The last thing he needs to do is walk back into the bedroom after a conversation with Chris and burst into tears again. Jon doesn’t know just how close he and Chris used to be, and today is not the day Zach wants to explain it. He doesn’t want to explain it any day, actually. He doesn’t think he could keep the guilt off his face if he had to do it.

Inside, Jon is reclining on the bed and tapping on his phone. He looks up and smiles when Zach comes in. “What’d Chris have to say?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Zach looks down at his feet, which have gone a little numb from the cold. “He just wanted to congratulate me.” 

“That’s sweet of him!” Jon says, completely genuinely. Bless him. “Anyway, I’m going to get some people together. What do you think, just drinks? Or food too?”

“I could eat,” Zach says. He shuffles over to the closet and starts scanning his shirts, trying to make himself care enough to decide which of them says ‘I came out to the world today and I’m thrilled about it’. As he’s eyeing a silver button-down, he hears the bed creak, and then Jon comes up behind him and wraps his arm around him.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, then kisses the base of Zach’s neck. 

Zach lets out a quiet breath and relaxes back into the embrace, laying his arms over Jon’s. After a moment of silence he asks, “Do you think I’m a good person?”

Jon stiffens, then withdraws his arms so he can grab Zach by the waist and force him to turnaround. He looks completely appalled, like Zach just suggested something far more concerning than a little self-doubt. “Why would you ask me that?” he says, his voice rising in pitch. “Of course I think you’re a good person. You _are_ a good person.”

“But do you…do you think I should have done this sooner? Was it selfish of me to…” He trails off, his throat closing before he can finish.

“Oh God, Zach.” Jon takes his face in his hands and kisses him on both cheeks, then his mouth, his fingers stroking the hair at the back of Zach’s head. When he pulls back to look Zach in the eye again, his expression is stern. “You can’t put all of that on your shoulders, okay? Your life belongs to you, you know. Even if you hadn’t come out you wouldn’t be a bad person.”

Zach closes his eyes and nods. Jon puts his arms around him, and he slumps willingly against him, burying his face in his shoulder. It means a lot to hear all that, especially from Jon, who is the best person he knows. Still, it’s hard not to wonder if he wouldn’t have done it sooner if not for…but no, he can’t let himself think that. Not now. It doesn’t matter now.

_I’m proud of you,_ Chris had said—and he meant it. Zach knows him well enough to know he meant it. Whatever they were before doesn’t matter. Whatever _Zach_ was before doesn’t matter. Now, a little bit more of his authentic self is out in the open, and if Chris can be proud of him, he can damn well be proud of himself.

He sighs and straightens up again, running his fingers anxiously through his hair and not quite meeting Jon’s eyes. “Help me pick out something to wear?”

Jon’s eyes light up at that, and Zach can’t help but smile at him. Maybe everything will really be okay now. Maybe he and Chris will be able to be friends, and maybe he and Jon will start really getting serious, start thinking about settling down, maybe even talk about having a family. This decision might not have shaken the earth, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t plant the seed for a better future. Zach takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, imagines himself breathing out all the anxiety of the past several months. When Jon holds out a shirt, he takes it from him with a smile. Because he _should_ be smiling. What is left to feel unhappy about?


	6. Chapter 6

  
**January-April 2012**   
_it feels like we're oceans apart_   


Slipping into Spock’s skin a second time should be easier, but it isn’t. It isn’t harder either, but it’s different, and it seems to take longer this time around. Zach is more grateful than ever for those hours spent in the makeup chair every morning, time he spends with his eyes closed, meditating, trying to shed all the baggage he brought into the trailer with him so he can walk out if it again fully Vulcan. Or half-Vulcan. Whatever.

He’s been staying in the house again, which isn’t doing great things for his mental state, even though Jon is with him. Maybe especially since Jon is with him. There are too many memories there, and Zach doesn’t like the idea of wiping the slate clean and starting over, but he doesn’t like the idea of dwelling on them either. All of Los Angeles, but his house in particular, seems to exist in a sort of limbo between the past and the present, everything covered in a film of nostalgia and heartache. Being back on the Trek set doesn’t provide an escape, because nothing holds more nostalgia or more heartache than that bridge. The last time the cameras were on he and Chris at the same time, they were hiding a secret. A wonderful secret. Now, they’re only hiding from each other.

Four years ago, Chris would be in the makeup trailer with him more often than not, even though his transformation into Kirk took significantly less time. Now, he isn’t quite avoiding Zach, but he isn’t going out of his way to seek him out either. On the rare occasion that he gets to set early and sits in the makeup chair next to Zach, he stays only as long as it takes to get all prettied up, then leaves right away rather than lingering and keeping Zach company. He isn’t aloof. In fact, he’s downright friendly. But his absence from Zach’s side is significant enough that Zach is sure even the rest of the cast has noticed that things are off. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the pitying looks that Zoe has been shooting his way, or the puzzlement in J.J.’s eyes when he comes to fetch Zach from his trailer and finds him alone. 

Part of it, Zach tells himself, is that Chris is seeing someone now. A model. A supermodel, to be more accurate. He sneaks off to call her between takes, and Zach keeps catching him leaning against walls or tucked behind pieces of the set with the phone pressed to his ear and a smile on his face—one of those smiles a person only wears when they’re talking to a significant other. Zach wonders if Chris wore that smile when he was talking to him too, or if he always tried to keep his face as blank as possible, so people wouldn’t know.

“What do you think about her?” Zach asks Zoe one day, while they’re eating lunch on set, styrofoam boxes balanced on their knees. Zoe and her boyfriend double-dated with Chris and Dominique last week, and Zach has been trying not to feel too betrayed ever since. 

Zoe gives him a knowing look before returning her attention to her food. “What does that mean?”

“I mean…” Zach chews on his lip, trying to decide how bitchy he wants to be. “I mean, does she seem good for him?”

“You mean is she as vapid and superficial as you want to believe she is,” Zoe says. She is scarily astute sometimes. 

“I mean does she seem good for him,” he insists again. “He doesn’t talk to me about her.”

“Hmm, I wonder why Chris wouldn’t want to talk about the person he’s currently seeing with the person he used to be seeing. How strange. Especially since you’re _obviously_ so fine with it. Oh, by the way, since you seem to have forgotten, you do have your own very cute, very sweet boyfriend.”

Okay, lesson learned: don’t try to be coy with Zoe. She’s too damn smart for that. Also, she has a point. Zach has a boyfriend whom he loves very much, enough that he couldn’t stand to leave him behind in New York when he came out here for filming. Not that Jon wanted to stay behind. Things have been so easy with them; they have supported each other in their work and woven themselves into each other’s lives with such effortlessness. Zach has no reason to still be thinking about Chris at all. And yet.

“Just…is he happy, Zoe?” Zach asks, trying not to let too much plaintiveness slip into his voice.

Zoe sighs and stabs at her salad. “I’m not going to be your spy, Zach. You can be a grown up and talk to him yourself.”

He was afraid she’d say that. It’s advice he just can’t take. Not yet.

But a week later, he wishes he had. It’s almost the end of the day, and Zach is taking a break in his trailer when he hears a knock at the door. He goes to answer it, expecting J.J. calling him back to set or maybe Zoe or Alice coming by for a chat, but it’s Chris standing there on his doorstep, smiling a nervous smile, his hands scrubbing down the legs of his Starfleet uniform pants.

“Hey, man, can I come in for a sec?”

Zach nods and steps back, biting his lip to keep from blurting something stupid like ‘please’ or ‘missed you’. The room seems to shrink as soon as Chris steps into it, until it’s barely big enough to hold both of them, and Zach has to back off to the far wall to put enough space between them. Chris goes to the couch and falls into it, spreading his arms along the back of it so he takes up even more room. 

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” he asks.

“Oh,” Zach says, then winces when he hears how shocked he sounds. “Umm, no, I don’t think so. Why?”

Chris shifts, bringing one hand down to fidget with the hem of his gold shirt. “I was wondering if you and Jon wanted to get dinner with me and Dom.”

“Oh,” Zach says again. Where has his eloquence gone to? “Uh, yeah. I mean…sure. I’ll have to check with Jon, but we can probably do that.”

“Great,” Chris says, but the word seems a little hollow. He sighs and leans forward a little, gazing up at Zach with open uncertainty. “It’s okay, right? The four of us going out together? It won’t be too awkward?”

There are two ways Zach could play this. He could tell Chris what he wants to hear and risk it sounding false and making things worse between them. Or he could be brutally honest and hope that it breaks the tension somehow. Sighing, he pushes away from the wall and goes over to slouch on the arm of the couch, far enough away from Chris to feel comfortable but close enough to feel companionable.

“I’m not gonna lie, it’s probably going to be awkward.” He runs a hand through his hair and musters a small reassuring smile when Chris looks at him. “But maybe we need to fight through a little awkwardness so things can start to feel normal again.”

Chris lets out a long breath and rubs the back of his neck, which has gone blotchy with embarrassment. “Sorry. I haven’t been trying to avoid you or anything. I just thought it’d be easier if…”

“Yeah,” Zach says. “I’m not blaming you.”

Once the words are out, Zach realizes that he means them. He’s not angry with Chris, though he thinks he would be justified if he were. After all, Chris rejected him and then found his way into the arms of a woman not that long afterward. But Zach was the one who moved on first. He has been seeing Jon for longer. If there’s some piece of him that’s still clinging to what he and Chris had—a piece that has grown larger now that he’s seeing Chris every day again—well, that’s not Chris’s fault. 

“So we’re good?” Chris asks, a tiny, hopeful smile forming on his lips.

“We’re good,” Zach confirms, smiling right back at him.

But after they have talked over plans for dinner, and after Chris has left the trailer again, Zach’s heart is still beating fast in his chest, his stomach still feels like lead. It’s going to be a long shoot, he thinks. An impossibly long shoot.

———

“You alright?” Jon asks as Zach backs the car out of the driveway. He has been watching Zach all evening, stealing careful glances while they were getting ready, his gaze itchy on the side of Zach’s face. It’s like he’s waiting for something, but Zach can’t fathom what that might be. If he has something to say, he should just say it.

“I’m fine,” Zach says, bracing his hand behind Jon’s shoulder as he guides the car through the gate and out onto the street. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well…” Out of the corner of his eye, Zach sees Jon scrub his hands on his slacks. The gesture reminds him of Chris. He grips the steering wheel tight and braces for Jon to continue. “Well, I just thought…given that Chris is your ex and all…”

“He’s not really my ex,” Zach says. He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but the words come out a little too fast, a little too crowded together. “We just used to sleep together. It’s not the same thing.”

“Come on, Zach. Don’t treat me like an idiot.” Coming out of anyone else’s mouth, the words would sound bitter, but Jon is almost apologetic, like he regrets having to call Zach out on his bullshit. 

Zach sighs and rolls his shoulders, trying to get some of the tension out of them. If Jon can tell there’s something wrong, Chris will definitely be able to tell, and that’s the last thing he wants. He needs to get himself together before they make it to the restaurant. “I promise, nothing’s wrong. Yeah, it’s a little awkward going on a double date with someone you used to fuck, but…we talked about this. It’s not like that anymore. We’re better off as friends.”

“Hey, I told you I don’t have a problem with it,” Jon says, reaching out to cup his hand around the back of Zach’s neck and give it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re the one who seems to have a problem with it. You know no one’s forcing you to be friends with him if you don’t want to be, right?”

Zach snorts. “I think Paramount is kind of forcing me.”

“You know what I mean,” Jon says. “We don’t have to do this. You can even use me as a scapegoat if you want. Say I got sick or something.”

It’s tempting, far more tempting than it should be. Zach takes a moment to imagine what it would be like to relegate Chris to the category of ‘work acquaintance’. He thinks about all the nights they spent curled around each other in bed, all the inside jokes they share, all the times the lost hours talking around in circles, and he pictures it all getting washed away like chalk drawings in the rain, the colors blurring and fading in his mind. Maybe it would be just that easy. Maybe he could be free.

“No,” he says, putting his foot down a little harder on the gas. “It’s really not that big a deal, I promise.”

Chris and Dominique are already at the restaurant when they get there, which is odd since Chris usually has trouble getting to places on time. Zach puts his hand on the small of Jon’s back as they walk to the table, and he leaves it there, heavy and proprietary, while Chris jumps up to greet them. 

“Jon, this is Chris Pine. Chris, Jon Groff.” 

“Hey! It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Chris smiles a genuine smile as he shakes Jon’s hand, and Jon smiles right back at him.

“Likewise.”

Chris claps Zach on the shoulder, and they have a split second of eye contact that sizzles down Zach’s spine like an electric shock. But then Chris is turning away to slip an arm around Dominique, who has risen to join the meet-and-greet. She is tall—as tall as Chris with her heels on—and so gorgeous that it’s almost painful to look at the two of them standing next to each other. Chris introduces her, and Zach has to take his hand off Jon to shake her hand before letting Jon have his turn.

“I’ve heard a ton about you,” Dominique says to Zach as they all sit down. Her accent is South African, and Zach is caught off guard. He almost wishes he’d googled her first, just to cut back on the number of surprises he might be subjected to.

“Everything he says is lies,” Zach says, forcing himself to grin. Jon’s hand finds his knee under the table.

Dominique laughs, turning her head to look fondly at Chris though she’s still addressing Zach. “Oh, it’s all good things. He speaks very highly of you.”

Chris turns pink and pointedly avoids Zach’s eyes. “Stop, Dom. His head is big enough.” 

It hits Zach all at once: Chris hasn’t told Dominique about him. She doesn’t know he and her boyfriend used be…whatever they were. And she is the only one at the table who isn’t in on the secret. Suddenly, things feel a hundred times more awkward. Zach tries to catch Jon’s eye, to give him a silent _mayday_ , but either Jon doesn’t get it or he wisely realizes there’s nothing they can do about it, because he just squeezes Zach’s knee and smoothly moves the conversation forward, asking Dominique about her work.

In the end it’s not as bad as Zach expects it to be, but it’s also somehow worse. The conversation flows easily enough, and they avoid all uncomfortable topics. Both Chris and Dominique seem pretty taken with Jon, but that’s no surprise. And Dominique makes a good impression too, proving herself to be both more down-to-earth and more intelligent than Zach (unfairly) expected. The problem is not that things are overtly uncomfortable. Exactly the opposite, in fact. The problem is how easily Chris laughs, how wide he smiles, how easily he blushes. The problem is how he drapes his arm across the back of Dominique’s chair and brushes her hair behind her ear and sometimes goes so far as to lean in and kiss her temple. The problem is that Jon keeps rubbing Zach’s knee under the table and saying kind things about him and stroking the hair at the back of his head. Everything is warm and cozy and shows all the signs that they are four people who are completely clicking, forming lasting friendships, and yet Zach knows better. It makes him feel horrible, sitting there and laughing at Chris’s girlfriend’s charming stories when there is nothing he would like more in life than to never see her face again.

The worst part is how happy Chris seems, how light, like he could just float right out of his chair and leave Zach snatching at thin air. By the time the check comes, Zach is convinced that he was only ever a weight around Chris’s neck. He seriously thinks about slipping off to the bathroom just to yell at the top of his lungs for a while, maybe punch a few walls, but he’s scared Jon—or worse, Chris—might follow him. Plus, he’s not prone to tantrums. He’s prone to massive misguided bouts of navel-gazing and wallowing, and he can feel one of those bouts coming on now, but he at least has to hold out until they get home.

He does give in to his martyr complex a little by insisting on picking up the bill, glaring at Chris until he shrugs and holds up his hands in surrender. After Zach has signed his name and downed the last swallow of wine from his glass, the four of them walk out to the parking lot together. It’s a typical Los Angeles night—clear and mild and starless. It’s the kind of night Zach didn’t think he would miss, because they got so old after a while, all of them the same, never any change. He did miss them though. Back in New York, he would step out into the cold, or into oppressive heat, and he would think about how he never appreciated nights like this. 

Dominique shivers, and Chris puts his arm around her, pulling her close to his side. “Well, thanks for coming out with us, you guys,” he says. “We should definitely do this again.”

“Yeah,” Zach says. “Definitely.”

Handshakes all around, and then they split off into two pairs and wander in opposite directions. Zach reaches for Jon’s hand and holds it tight and resists the urge to look back and watch Chris walk away, wrapped up in the person who evidently makes him so much happier.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Jon says as they slide into the car. He’s being sincere. He always is. “I had fun.”

“So did I,” Zach says. He starts the car and throws it into reverse. “I told you it wasn’t a big deal.”

———

They go out with Chris and Dom six more times over the ensuing weeks. They get to know each other well enough to call Dom ‘Dom’. Every time Zach says the name out loud, he gets a mental image of Chris on his hands and knees, licking a stiletto. It makes him want to throw things, but somehow he manages to keep himself under control. Somehow he manages to do a lot of things. Like go to work. Be Spock. Go home at the end of the day and be a good boyfriend. Keep putting one foot in front of the other with the expectation that eventually all of this will get better.

If nothing else, he’ll be back in New York soon, and if the past year taught him anything, it’s that it’s a lot easier to not think of Chris when he isn’t standing right in front of him.

When there are only a few weeks of filming left, Jon has to go back to New York for work. It’s pathetic how much Zach wants to beg him not to go. He has never thought of himself as a clingy person, but now he wonders about that. Obviously Chris thought him too grasping; it was at least part of the reason he pushed him away. But if Zach does need to work on being more independent, he’d rather not do it _now_ , of all times. Most days it feels like having Jon around is the only thing keeping him sane. He isn’t sure how well he’ll cope on his own.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Jon says as he throws a wad of socks into his bag. He casts a sympathetic look at Zach, who is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him, moping. “I have to get to these auditions. We’ll be back together before you know it.”

“I know,” Zach sighs. “It just sucks.”

Jon smiles that wonderful smile of his and comes around the bed to take Zach’s face in his hands and kiss his forehead, then his mouth. “Enjoy the rest of this shoot while you can, Zach.”

If only it were that easy. When Jon moves away to continue packing, Zach flops backward on the bed and covers his face with his hands, groans into them. “There are some difficult scenes coming up.”

“Have you talked to Chris about it? The death scene?”

“No.” Zach pushes his fingers into his eyes and tries to come up with a convincing lie. “I’m afraid if we discuss it too much it won’t feel authentic when we have to film it.”

Jon hums thoughtfully, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Zach listens to the sounds of him moving around the room, opening and closing drawers, and lets it calm him a little. He’s going to have to play a lot of music when Jon goes, to keep the silence from getting too loud. Or maybe he’ll just sleep a lot more. Maybe he’ll come back from set and fall right into bed.

“If you need me, I’ll only be a phone call away,” Jon says at last. The sound of the zipper on his suitcase punctuates the sentence and makes Zach open his eyes. 

“Come here,” he says, sitting up. Jon takes his suitcase over to the bedroom door, then comes back and lets Zach pull him into his lap. Zach puts his arms around his middle and rests his head against his chest, soaking him in. Maybe if they sit like this long enough, they’ll fuse together somehow, or enough of Jon will sink into Zach that Zach will feel him here even when he’s not. Because that’s really the fear. If Jon is gone, who will keep away all the thoughts Zach doesn’t want to be thinking? Thoughts he can’t even give names to, for fear that’ll summon them even now.

“What do you want to do on our last night together?” Jon asks, stroking his fingers through the back of Zach’s hair. Zach tilts his head back and meets Jon’s eyes, then summons a real smile from the places in his heart that Chris hasn’t touched.

“I want to not leave this bed,” he says, and drags Jon down to the sheets with him.

———

Zach doesn’t see Chris until he walks up to the set piece that represents the door between the warp core and the rest of the engineering deck. He was grateful a moment ago for the time spent alone in the makeup chair, the time to prepare for the long day they have ahead of them, but now that he looks down and sees Chris’s red and puffy face, he wishes he had more time to prepare. Chris is reclined on the other side of the door, propped up on his elbows. He has his phone in his hand, and his expression is one of perfect relaxation, but still Zach’s hand goes to his mouth in shock. When Chris looks up and catches him, he smiles.

“I know,” he says. “The makeup is freaky, right?”

His voice is a little muffled through the door, and Zach has to tamp down the urge to tell him to shut up, he’s making it worse. He squats next to the glass, trying to look as casual as possible, trying to pretend there isn’t so much tension in his shoulders that it _hurts_. “Freaky is one way of putting it,” he says. “Another way is: you look like shit.”

“Thanks, dude,” Chris says. He slips his phone back into his pocket and leans back against the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his stomach. “Shouldn’t you be getting into character or something? I don’t think Spock would be thinking Kirk looks like shit.”

Zach smirks. “Shows how well you know Spock. Honestly, Pine, we’re almost done with the _second_ movie. Get to know your first officer a little better.”

“Hush.” The corner of Chris’s mouth twitches upward. “I’m trying to pretend I’m dying.”

“You were just looking at your phone, you moron.”

“Well _now_ I’m trying to pretend I’m dying.”

Before Zach can say anything else, the tiny whirlwind that is J.J. blows into the warehouse, muttering something about getting the birds in the rafters to shut up. Zach hadn’t noticed before, but now that it’s been pointed out, he can hear the faint chirps of songbirds far above him, echoing in the darkness. It’s almost eerie. It’s beautiful too. He stares up into the black until he fools himself into thinking he sees the flutter of wings. 

“Okay!” J.J. chirps, startling Zach out of his reverie. “How are you both? Are you ready to do this?”

They aren’t—they couldn’t possibly be—but of course they both say yes. All at once they are the epicenter of a storm of activity. Makeup artists come by to touch them up. Camera men frame up the shots. Someone is pawing at Zach’s hair. Set pieces are being shifted an inch or so here and there. Lights are repositioned. In the midst of all of it, Zach keeps his eyes on Chris, even though Chris now seems to be avoiding looking at him at all costs. One of the PAs comes to pass Chris a coffee cup, which he takes a few sips from before handing it back along with his phone. Before too long, all the activity starts to wind back down, and Zach can hear the birdsong again. He shuts his eyes and lets it wash over him, focusing on it and nothing else, clearing his mind completely. 

The next few hours are arduous. The whole day has been blocked off for this scene, and they end up needing it. Not only are they just not nailing it the way they need to, but the birds keep screwing with the sound, and members of the crew keep running around trying to figure out what to do about them, blowing air horns between takes, calling people to bring in birds of prey, running around waving their arms and screaming like crazy people. 

It isn’t exactly doing wonders for Zach’s creative process, and since he wasn’t in a good place to begin with, he starts to become frustrated quickly. Nothing is clicking. He feels like he has inhabited Spock, but he’s having trouble figuring out how Spock would respond to this particular situation. Chris, of course, dies beautifully over and over. And each time it tightens the vice around Zach’s heart more and more. 

He fears that he’s about another take or two away from snapping and storming off set like a diva when Chris ‘pssts’ at him, then waves him around to his side of the glass. The crew is busy fighting with the birds, so they have a few minutes to chat. Zach gets to his feet, groaning when his knees pop, and walks around to the other side of the door, to see how things look from Chris’s perspective.

“You doing okay?” is the first thing Chris asks. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, and Zach drops to the floor next to him, slumping back against the wall.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I don’t know why I’m not getting it.”

“Are you sure you aren’t overthinking it?” 

Zach looks sideways at Chris and narrows his eyes. “Hmm?”

“Just…I get that you need to be Spock right now, but maybe you need to be Zach a little too, you know?” Chris licks his lips and then bumps their shoulders together. “You’re watching your friend die. Sure, a half-Vulcan would be a little more subdued, but this should be…well, it should be easy for you to imagine, right? Because…because I’m your friend. You’re watching me die.”

Chris voice wavers a little over _I’m your friend_ , like he isn’t sure it’s the truth anymore, and just like that Zach knows what the problem is. He’s doing exactly what he feared he would do: letting his insistence on keeping Chris at arm’s length get in the way of the scene. This whole time he has been pretending that Chris doesn’t mean anything to him, that he’s happy with how things are, that he isn’t unbearably jealous of Chris’s beautiful girlfriend, that he isn’t heartbroken over how much things have changed in three short years. He has been acting off camera as well as on, and it’s been draining and difficult and he doesn’t want to do it anymore. For this one scene, maybe he doesn’t have to. 

The birds have quieted again, so J.J. rushes them back into position. This time, as Zach stands in front of that door, looking down at Chris, he lets all the emotions he’s been holding back flood his body until they quicken his breath and make his hands tremble at his sides. He thinks about how he’s lost Chris over and over today and how he has lost him every time he kissed Dom in front of him, every time he kissed Dom in _public_ the way he could never kiss Zach. He thinks about how Chris should have been the one at his side when he came out. He thinks about all the times he wished he could pick up the phone and tell Chris to come to New York—not to visit, but for good. Forever.

And just before he puts his hand on the glass, mirroring Chris’s, he says _Because you are my friend_ but means _I love you_ , and the tears streaming down his face are real.

It’s not over after that. They have to do more takes, more angles, just to make sure they have it, but J.J. isn’t giving notes between takes anymore. He might look a little misty-eyed himself, but Zach can’t look at him for long enough to confirm. He can’t take his eyes off of Chris. Chris, who keeps gazing up at him, looking scared and tired and somehow grateful. Zach wants to go to him and gather him into his arms and never let go again. How could he ever have let him go?

The moment J.J. calls it a wrap, Zach gets to his feet and practically sprints from the warehouse. He doesn’t stop for anything until he gets to his trailer, and he doesn’t stop once he’s inside it either. Pacing from one end of the trailer to the other doesn’t help him feel any less wrecked, but it does keep him from putting his fist through a wall or screaming in residual rage. He could have screamed ‘Khan’ a hundred more times, each time substituting the name in his mind for a different thing that came between himself and Chris. Homophobia. Commitment phobia. Life and the universe and everything.

Then the door opens, shuts again, and Zach whirls around to see Chris standing there.

“Zach,” Chris says. It sounds like it was going to be the start of a sentence, but all Chris seems to be able to do is stare at him. His chest is heaving as much as Zach’s is. His eyes are wet and so blue, bluer than ever. Zach has a flashback to that night, the two of them standing in Zach’s apartment, looking at each other from across the room, the tension between them growing into something inevitable and momentous.

“You should go,” Zach says. His voice is all jagged edges, and it makes Chris flinch even as he shakes his head.

“No. No, I needed to make sure you—”

“I’m fine,” Zach snaps, desperate to get Chris out of the trailer as quickly as possible. “I’ll be fine.”

But Chris doesn’t budge. “You’re not fine. I can tell when you’re not fine, and you clearly haven’t been fine for a while.” 

Zach laughs in disbelief, wondering how Chris can be so clueless. “What are you doing, Chris? You know I can’t talk to you about this.”

“I thought you were happy!” Chris takes a step forward, then another. “You were supposed to be happy, with Jon. You’re out now, and you get to be with someone who’s in the same place as you, and…and things are supposed to be getting _better_ for you.”

The way he says it, like he’s implying he did Zach a favor by breaking his heart, makes Zach laugh again, but this time it sounds a little hysterical and he can’t seem to stop it. It just keeps bubbling up out of his mouth, until Chris is staring at him with wide, horrified eyes, and the only thing Zach can think to do to stop it is to close the space between them and take Chris by the shoulders and press their mouths together.

Chris lets out a small _mmph_ and his hands go to Zach’s chest, and Zach braces himself to be pushed away. Shoved away maybe. He deserves it. That doesn’t stop him from savoring the familiar shape and softness of Chris’s mouth while he gets the chance, even daring to sneak his tongue out to taste Chris’s bottom lip. But Chris sucks in a sharp breath and curls his fingers in Zach’s shirt and pulls him in harder, his mouth falling open so Zach can lick inside. For a few blissful seconds, it’s like they’ve turned back time. It’s just like all the stolen kisses in one of their trailers during the last shoot, when they were sneaking around and could hardly keep their hands off each other and were always at risk of getting caught. Zach’s heart pounds double time in his chest, and he wants to crow in triumph. He wants to brand his fingerprints on Chris’s hips or his jaw, so he can’t walk out of here thinking he belongs to anyone but Zach.

But as quickly as it began, it’s over again. Chris uncurls his fingers and shoves and they break apart, panting, Chris scrubbing at his mouth. He glances back at the door like he expects someone to be standing there watching them. Zach’s heart falls into his stomach.

“Well that was fucking stupid,” Chris says. He can’t meet Zach’s eyes. 

“You kissed me back.” Those seem like the most important words in the world, the most important thought in the world. “You…you…Chris, you—”

“Stop,” Chris says. He is already backing toward the door, his gaze fixed somewhere around Zach’s chin. “Just stop, Zach. You know we’re better off this way. You _know_ it.”

Zach doesn’t know anything, least of all that, but he doesn’t get a chance to say it. Chris has reached the door, and once he opens it their privacy is gone. But he lingers there in the doorway, and finally he meets Zach’s eyes, and internal struggle Zach sees there takes his breath away. Chris isn’t sure at all. Regardless of what he’s telling himself about how they can’t be together, he obviously doesn’t believe it. Zach takes a step forward and reaches out a hand, ready to beg him to come back inside. But he’s too late. The shutters close behind Chris’s eyes again and he steps backward out of the trailer.

“Talk to Jon,” he says. “He deserves better.”

“Fuck you,” Zach spits, but Chris has already turned around and let the door swing shut behind him.


End file.
